(Untitled)

The key to forgetting,
Someone said,
Was to start small
Like your keys, your library books

To stop making associations
Like the way you smell
That song you loved
Your favorite term of endearment

Lie (to myself)
I will see you again, Its not really over
We would have been great together
(And to you) I hate you

Throw away the random things
That we made together
That business card, the red dragon tissues
The newspaper we read on Sunday

Then to get to the point of forgetting
To stop seeing you everywhere
To spend a few idle moments,
Without caressing you with my thoughts

My cardboard boxes are packed
I await the empty space
That comes with forgetting
The way you loved me

*With apologies to Thoughtspotting

*some text missing*

I've been thinking of what to say to you, that will make sense for us. I want to tell you that I miss you, and that I really want to see you again, but the professional help I'm finally getting tells me that this is just a delusion. Apparently all this turmoil and pain inside me isn't real, its just my part in a play, the script for which was embedded in my sub-conscious when I was a child. A play in which you must break my heart and I must let you, just like I've let it happen a hundred times before, when the only thing that changed was the person playing your part. Except this time I mustn't.

I want to tell you how much I loved touching you, how much I loved falling asleep with you curled up around me and waking up knowing you would still be holding me. The way you'd kiss my fingers. I so want to call you, to ask you how the move went, how you like the new city, what the shop looks like and how much he's messed it up. To tease you about how badly your country is playing in the World Cup. I want to tell you that though I say its too late, I'm really hoping it isn't, that you still want to fight for us. That I hate that we can't talk to each other anymore. That though they say what I feel for you isn't real, that its just a result of my childhood trauma and self destructive nature, I am screaming for you on the inside.

But I can't say anything to you, not until I'm no longer broken. So even though I pick up my phone a hundred times a day to reply to your message, I won't.

You were right though, we would have been great.

Frankly Scarlet, I Don't Give a Damn

I should be upset, but I am strangely relieved. The thing is, I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure that what they had said was true, I wasn't sure that I was making the right decision, I wasn't sure that they were right about you.

And then you left, for the very reason that I was afraid you would, for the reason that they said you would, for the reason that you know is the nameless terror that doesn't let me sleep at night.

And I can't stop laughing, because despite everything you said you were, everything you said we were, all the times you lamented the other men in my life who had done terrible things to me, despite how much you said you would never hurt me, you're just the like the rest of them.

So now I'm sure. And no matter what changes, even if I am no longer broken on the inside anymore, you and I are done.

*GRIN*