The last 3 letters of the spring

Everything I am not (!)

Broken
Less for loving more
A failure for caring; still, even though
Drowning and
Gasping for closure
Begging for a bit of kindness
Starving, and
Grateful for the breadcrumbs
Understood
Sleepless and 
Rage-cleaning my bathroom at midnight
Waiting for a miracle
Clock-watching; avoiding the 12:12
Looking for another reason 
Chosen by him; good riddance (I am just putting a braver face, this shit hurts)
Irreplaceable 
Smelling like Byredo Slow Dance 
A witch


Everything I stopped doing (!)

Buying cupcakes for a 1-year anniversary in my favourite city
Writing handwritten birthday cards for that one person
Wanting to accidentally run into him
Keeping his stuff
Biting my inner lip
Wanting to understand
Cooking for two
Wanting him back 
Hiding
Being glad for meeting him
Loving this city
Reading between the lines; reading the eyes; reading his body language 
Believing he is a good person 
Not eating
Our rituals without him
Wanting us back
Trusting the “me too”
Chasing


Everything I don't have anymore (!)

His phone number
His hoodies
The birthday card he made for me
His respect and devotion
The desire to share another inside joke
The title of the “girlfriend”
The illusion of a future together 
A safe space, a favourite person, my friend
The intimacy of not needing words
My beautiful long tress
His worries 
Empathy for his childhood wounds 
The tenderness of crying together 
Mercy for those who left
The Wednesdays
His word


Everything I don't remember anymore (!)

His intercom number
The feeling of sonder
The colour of his cushions (yes, the ones I built fortresses from)
Why I thought calling each other “bro” was romantic 
The Sundays
What I did to deserve this
The safety of waking up in his apartment, then making breakfast, then making love


Things I thought I had, but I don't really…

His hoodies
The birthday card he made for me
His respect
The desire to share another inside joke
The title of the “girlfriend”
A future together 
A safe space, a favourite person, my friend
The intimacy of not needing words
My beautiful long tress
His worries 
His Empathy 
The tenderness of crying together 
Mercy for those who left
The Wednesdays
His love and devotion


You loved. You lost. Walk tall, hon, walk tall. And them, not loving you back, it's just…that's shameful.