I looked into my heart last night for the first time since our breakup and got scared at all the empty space inside.
When my father moved out I touched my ear to the walls of our house, praying I’d catch an echo of his voice trapped inside the plaster.
I might’ve done the same with you, when I filled my mouth with nothing but your name and hoped something other than my voice would speak instead.
I wonder why I started bleaching the color out of my sky to make yours look brighter. Why I kept giving things you never asked for. If there’s a limit to how much of yourself you can store inside someone until you stop making use of your body, I think I managed to find out with you.
Remember none of this I write to hurt us, I don’t love you anymore, but I used to. And I’m alright knowing my body will always smile all the way to the bone when I think of you.
I’m okay with this.
How wonderful is it to know I gave someone this much and still have enough to love later?
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WORDS AFTER WE LET GO, alaska gold.







