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This peom is very precise in its documentation of a failed relationship.  Having just emerged from one, with my heart and world shattered, I can attest, however sadly, that what you have written is very, very true.  The lines about always being in a hurry and seeming to hide something describes, with uncanny precision, my lover, and how she acted during most of our all too short relationship.  When I was with her, I was ecstatically happy; apart from her, I was miserable.  But I began to notice small details did not add up; or certain things she said or did were very flimsy or flakey.  In my case, she was hiding a relapse into heroin addiction from which, at the time we met, she had been trying to recover.  Since her adolescent years, a decade and a half ago, her life has been one mess after another.  I thought, foolishly, that I could offer her something different.  She even said she had never been loved that well before.  And yet it failed, because, in the end, she lover her addiction more than she loved me.  She loved it enough to try to deceive me, on our last day together, with so blatant and transparent a deception that even my dog could have figured it out.  And now I am caught in that great paradox of relationships:  I was miserable with her, because of the lies, and I am miserable without her, because of her absence.

I have said all this simply to say that I can well attest to the accuracy and honesty of your poem, and I am sorry, so sorry, that you have had to experience such an event as you describe.  Love is not supposed to hurt; and, if it hurts, I suppose it is not really love.  And yet, we bare our hearts to it, and are left with pieces of a whole that could never have been.