I think I’m finally over it.
Or finally over myself
in terms of him.
I think I sent my final message.
Something easier.
Something softer.
Something that would leave me with closure
without making me bleed more than I already was.
I didn’t come harsh at him
because it would only hurt me more,
but I said things
that hurt just as bad as if I did.
And he listened.
I don’t know why.
Maybe because he genuinely doesn’t care.
Maybe because he sees my pleading
and knows it’s true.
Whatever it is,
I know I have to move on.
The shortest poem is a name.
His name.
The amount of poems I’ve written in his name.
The amount of times
I’ve used his existence
as ink.
Expressing myself through words
with his name on my mind,
giving me all the inspiration I needed
to finally say how I feel.
I never used to do this before.
I never even cared for it.
But I kept you a secret,
so I had to learn how to talk to myself about you.
I had to sit alone
and genuinely ask myself
how I felt
because there was nowhere else
for those feelings to go.
And in the end,
this thing I created to survive loving you,
became the thing I use
to survive not having you anymore.
And now it’s official.










