Dear Used-to-be Lover,
I can still feel your breath on my skin. But I am trying really hard to forget you. I remember the way you smiled the last time we kissed. The way you smoothed your hand around my waist, pulling me closer to you.
You always knew how to cut through my defenses like a warm knife on cold butter.
My body responded like I had known you long before we met. And I believed you were the physical incarnation of my desire for so very long. And my identity was shattered by the shrapnel of your absence. I did not know how to be me without you.
I spent months dissecting reality from fiction, upon the realization that much of what we shared was a figment of my beautiful mind. I created you in the image of my longing.
I compartmentalized my entire life to accommodate the facade. Because allowing myself to really see you threatened to unravel the tapestry of the reality that I’d worked so hard to weave. But in the end, it was you who tugged the thread.
Silence was your weapon of choice. You hid your truth under the guise of your quiet way. You never lied to me, but I wish you had, because lying is a tangible offense. Lying is a reference point for deceit. But silence, silence wounds softly. It digs and burrows under the cover of noiselessness. It maims dreams and destroys illusions without every speaking above a whisper. And I was hurt.
I wanted you to apologize. Not for what you kept, but for the fact that you chose to keep it. The deed was forgivable, but your omission not so much. There was so much space and opportunity for you to come clean, but you stood your ground.
I imagined that you were tempted to share on some occasion. But that was me giving you too much credit… again.
The truth is, you gave what you wanted to give and you shared what you wanted to share. But you also kept what you wanted to keep.
I do not need to understand why. Your why is none of my business. But my mangled heart, that’s mine. I will repair it shred by shred and bit by bit.
I will tend my own wound. While sitting in the angst of this discomfort. And I will not hurry my healing or rush to rebound, because this experience is a gift. Nestled in the center of this sorrow lies a truth that only you could reveal.
A truth that I was not prepared to see before now. And that is… I-do-not-need-you.
I am just as whole and complete in your absence, as I was in your presence. I am beautiful, capable, and sexy. I do not need validation. I do not need you to reflect the brilliance that I see when I gaze in my own eyes.
I don’t need your time or your excuses. I don’t need your permission or your forgiveness. I don’t need your emotional unavailability or your crunched time.
I don’t need your justification or tired explanations.
I don’t need your kisses or your maybe baby’s. I don’t need your touch or your dick. I don’t need your money or your promises.
For far too long you occupied a space that was not meant for you. But thank you, thank you for opening my eyes… and keeping the seat warm.