This year of letting go has been brutal.
I am left raw and bleeding, stripped away layers of love, of life, of skin and laid ready for something new. The new is hard, terrifying… I love the old, the old like you.
When I knew, to my core, that this year would be the one for letting go, I feared the most that the end result would be you. I feared this down deep to my soul, but that intuitive certainty seemed to whisper this truth.
Here, in the almost middle of the year-long-journey, I have already released my grip on so much.
So many habits, a friendship, crutches and dark things long gone now…
The thought of you too, as it grows clearer and clearer, makes me want to take back the whole plan.
I can’t do this.
I can not let you go…
And yet, as I loosen my grip a little, I realize I am the only one holding on anyway.
It is just my hand there, fingers clinging to your loose one.
You let go a long time ago, but then I wonder- scared to ask, had you ever held on at all?
To let go of the love means also letting go of the lies, which should seem like a good thing, shouldn’t it?
It does not.
The losing you part has never been a parcel of my bargain, and yet, it seems this is what it comes to anyhow.
I truly don’t know.
My chest is so tight from the fight to breathe, I want to kick and scream, to conquer your demons for you so that you can learn to love me again. Assuming, of course, you ever did. I used to believe it, but beneath the crafty way in which you seem, I am beginning to doubt that too.
I know, I can’t do that… I won’t even try. They are your demons to release or draw nearer, and they are what you’ve chosen. I am not.
I am not.
I will repeat the words until my insides cease throbbing.
I will stop allowing patterns to blanket me, which have only slowly ripped me apart.
You are yours now, you never claimed me.
In the deepest way possible, I am gone.
Entombed within this landscape I have woven- painting it beautiful so that you had somewhere safe and whole to belong- I cannot think about what comes next. Whatever it is, I know that the course of us changes forever, again.
Words meant for something spectacularly earth shattering, in the best ways- not like this.
I did not wish this, I did not want it.
I do not want it.
But you do not want me, so why hold on, anymore?
Good-bye being lied to,
Good-bye being lied about… (This will still happen, of course, you seem to know no other way of making it through a day, but perhaps this will finally not affect me like it always has before.)
Good-bye raised-fist-shattered moments and brutal words, spread like meat hooks, within the crevices of my mind.
Perhaps I’ll make it to the clouds, finally able to exhale…
Maybe instead I will struggle again, day in and out, never catching a break.
Either path it is, I guess is better than naked and lonely, splattered there on the ground.