I’m unlearning you.
My superpower memory is fading.
I no longer can remember what running my fingers down your spine feels like.
The way you would sometimes lay your head on my chest and I would try to run my fingers through your curly hair.
And we would laugh because you had knots but I tried anyways.
I no longer feel the weight of you on top of me.
Your skin smooth as silk.
Maybe it’s because the new beings are nothing like you.
That’s a good thing.
Because no one will ever be like you.
Every love will never be same.
And our love was, magic.
But that’s for another poem.
I’m letting you go.
I’m saying it out loud to myself.
I’m letting her go.
She never belonged to you,
let her go. Let her go. Let her go.
It’s been three months and my heart still aches with the thought of you but I am letting you go.
I now know what it feels like to be birthed into new life.
Tired, afraid, screaming.
Aching for my mother to hold me pressed against her chest.
Every year I will remember less and less.
But there will be times even in the future where I will walk down a busy street and the smell of lavender will make my lungs burn.
Where I will look into my morning cup of coffee on a new lovers porch with a cigarette in one hand and think of bumble bees in the lemon tree.
I promise to say goodnight to myself every night as I should’ve with you.
I will bring myself out of bed and make my own tea.
I vow to love myself. Fully. Truly.
I didn’t when we were in love.
I think you knew.
It’s starting to come together.
I’m starting to understand and I know I was cruel. You were too.
I’m sorry for that.
Thank you for loving me when you did.
To past Ice cream dates.
To drinking in trees at midnight.
To making love on the forest floor.
To traveling with you across state lines.
To bringing me home to your parents.
To letting me in.
To all of it. To everything.