Today I walked the same road that I walked with your corpse
And today I will exhale all my burdens.
I will buy a can of my mother’s favorite tea (named after my home state),
I will ask if the market IDs for lighters (they don’t),
And I will remember everything.
It won’t strike me like the cold strikes boiling liquids,
Not necessarily the same as a tepid goodbye,
But it will strike me like death.
Much like grief, love uproots my heartstrings for eternity but
Luckily I am the one who acts with my head.

I will meet people that make me feel apt to replace you.
They will confine me to nothing; I can be myself with them and
I won’t remember exactly what manner in me you loved before death.
This is good.
I don’t regret it.
But something’s amiss;
I will be visiting my grandmother and realize that she never knew you existed.
The greatest thing to happen to me and my first mother hasn’t a clue.
(Laugh at this redundancy: I was always extricated from him).

I lie on my half of the bed,
Sit on my side of the bus’ seats,
Leave the fan on at night,
And through exiling you
I forgive myself for the engagement.
I forgive myself for knowing you and you should do the same…
Except you come back to my side of life, though yours is entirely in favor of the split;
You have abandoned familiarity by doing this, you try to pass it off as something impersonal
But you meet my world confronting you and that is why you sit right across from me.
I know you can hear my whispers from that far away.
Is my ignorance towards you a bit too brazen?

I am afraid I will never be able to look behind me again,
Your haunting has proven that I need to fear your return.
Do not come back and beg my days to dedicate themselves to you again:
They’re composed of pieces that don’t fit quite yet (they’re still exchanging our time).
Oh but you must know this, I am sure that you must know.
I am not the only one struggling with the sting of grief and you have backed this hypothesis!
Your heart is met with it’s first winter since knowing me,
And you had hoped that the warmth I loved you with in the summer,
Would still miss the canvas that is your skin.
I know this because you still watch but barely discern me.
You still read every piece of poetry I publish.
You have yet to admit yourself to another,
I am at terms with it all, you can see my content.
Do not act like I am the one at fault.
Don’t you dare wallow for what you have made yourself.
I will walk these roads without you
And you will have nothing to do with it
Because, just to spite your lack of me,
You will never again meet a love similar.
But you know that already. Do you not?