We ended with quiet dialogue.
It was a distant thing:
a feeling we held on to,
knowing we didn’t have anything left to say,
or anything that mattered enough to say, at least.
I mean, I always thought it was about what you said
just before you let them go.
I love you and you hurt me.
I’m sorry I can’t do this.
But maybe that’s not it.
Maybe the cup is half empty right now.
Maybe you don’t miss me,
though I would like to think you do.
I’ve been told that a thing will go away once it has served its purpose.
Sooner or later, things will be different
and I’ll start to believe that.
Sooner or later, you’ll start to think about me
and begging for forgiveness.
I know what it feels like to endure the quiet, heavy nights. I know what it feels like to try and make sense of the lonely mornings. I understand how hard it is to learn how to let someone go, even if you’ve loved them. I know how hard it is to heal from the ache in your chest, realizing that maybe they were no good for you. I get it – and that’s why these words are for you, to help you grieve and to help you love yourself again.