u/Appropriate_Law_8930

I got tired of holding space for someone who never showed up, except in my head. Some moments feel like a betrayal, but it never is. I didn’t swap you out, it took years to get over you. He didn’t take your spot, you just left it empty. I couldn’t keep loving someone, someone absent.

Now it’s him. His name where I used to whisper yours into the nothingness. His laugh in a room we now call ours. His hands where yours never were.

It’s real. He’s real. We’re real.

In the quiet, I wonder what it would’ve felt like if you shown up first.

I’ll spend the rest of my life hating that I made you uncomfortable.

I’m sorry for that. I made us up and went crazy.

Luckily, I’m happy now. Happiest I’ve ever been. With him.

I mix a drink and pour, slowly. Noticing every detail about the liquor, but not the glass. It’s the perfect quiet fire I’ve been searching for. The smell hits first, like a memory waiting to be remembered. The taste, it’s a mix of heat and sting. It’s the perfect awareness I need. It spreads slowly. It goes down smoothly, but it’s felt somewhere in between.

It turns silence into confession. It turns whispers into poetry. 

I never had you, yet I lost you. 

I hope he treats you well. 

I hope he’s kind to you. Kinder than me. 

You’ll remain a distant memory. Almost, but not entirely. 

You’ll live your life. I’ll live mine. Ordinarily. 

I just saw you. 

At least, I thought I did. 

Somewhere in-between. Somewhere with tension. 

Somewhere with loss and gain, over and over again. 

The part people rarely talk about. 

The almost, but not quite.

Like a weeping willow without leaves. Dormant, delicate. 

I breathe slower now.

Resting, waiting, living. 

A life that’s worth living, finally.

M

A clean slate. From me to you, the viewer. 

No longer bleeding on paper, no longer bleeding on screen. 

I could’ve been better for you, but I bled instead. On paper, on screen. 

It’s softer now, it flows better off the lips.

This time it’s different. It’s slower. It’s smoother. 

Imperfections still there, but aggressions aren’t. 

Learning to write again. Not for you, the viewer. But for me, the author. 

The sting you gave no longer embedded deep, just a memory that carries.

Why am I back in a place that caused me to bleed?

Because this time is different, this time is for me.

M