hurting myself for the sake of my art, i said. well, that book came

out and soon after it dawned on me that while it hurt to write

about you, it hurt even more to push the words back down. so i let

them out. and now, here i am. finally coming up empty. after all

this time.

i can tell you now with certainty that this book does not contain

the same false promises as the others. i will not promise you that

i’ll never write another poem about you again. i will. i will write

dozens more. but it won’t be the same. they won’t be raw, like

they’ve been for the past five years. they’ll be reflective, maybe

a little sad, and sometimes they’ll hold that anger that’s buried

within every syllable of this book, but they just won’t be the same.

i also won’t say i’ve forgiven you entirely. i’ve forgiven you enough.

you have received all the forgiveness i can muster. i will never be

able to completely forgive you because i will never completely

understand why you acted the way you did. i have made peace

with what i can and stopped ruminating over what i can’t.

i spent a long time wanting someone to treat you the way you

treated me, but all i want now is to be done with this. i’m just tired.

so i’m done. this is done, now. you can be as happy about it as you

want. i’m happy, too. this chapter of my life is over.

i’m finally closing the door.

THE MOMENT OF CLARITY I’D BEEN WAITING FIVE YEARS FOR:

i guess you could say i just simply don’t have the desire to tell our

story anymore. it happened. and it killed me. it killed me for years.

and now i’m looking forward without you lurking behind me

for the first time since it started. i just don’t feel the need to keep

rehashing it. i’m finally away from your shadow and the light feels

fucking amazing.

and you? well, you’re wherever you are, doing whatever you’re

doing, and i have finally stopped caring. i have stopped caring

about whether or not you think about me anymore, and i have

stopped caring that many signs point to “yes.” i have stopped

caring about some final conversation that will make any of this

make sense; i’ve stopped caring about how that will never happen.

i have stopped caring if you’re reading this and i have stopped

caring about how it makes you feel if you are.

it’s been too long since i’ve tasted peace. but it’s here now and i

don’t plan on forgetting its flavor anytime soon.

to you, reader:

there are times when people just leave. hearts just break. love just

dies. wounds just bleed. but time presses on. new people arrive.

hearts begin to beat again. a better love takes root. wounds finally

heal. if you are hurting, let time work its magic. it is slow for a