breaking up

the thing about breakups is that it takes time.

the feeling of their feelings, the notion of touch, that your heartbeats were in sync. for years. for years.

the books that you gave them that they never read. that you asked them, too much, to extend themselves for your growth, which is bell hooks’ love, which at last, they did not do. that you changed for them, because they asked you to, they asked you to love them, so you did, and they do not see it, will not see it. that you want to tell them things, but cannot predict if they want to hear it, if they want to understand it.

all those angers, still.

you can never let them go.
it is not about you letting them go.

it is about them going from you.

a breakup is always ripping, shrieking you to shreds, shells.

but healing, healing is not wise, nor is it elegant.
healing is NOT about the going through.
healing is NOT about what you learned.

healing is about forgetting.

healing is about those infinite,
endless impressions,
ending.
memories, fading.

like those things were never there.
like you DIDN’T learn those things.
what things?

like your favorite thing that you lost, and at first, anguished, but months later, moments in which you don’t think about it.
moments, in which you are no longer screaming.

completing the LOSS, is what is healing.

and finally, finally, becoming glad, that this is a now-gray, now-shapeless, now-unfindable collection of not-even-memories and not-even-stories.

grateful, for it to be gone, gone from you, irrecoverable.
and you finally, finally, no longer even want it, it is tattered, undesirable.

it will go from you.
it will go from you.
and, then. then, you will be free.