I think a part of me is convinced that the hurt is lurking in everything that surrounds me.
I tossed out most of my closet, but nothing in it that was yours.
I burned the old notebooks, but not your letters.
I even smashed the empty bottles on my dresser…but saved the one that your lips had made home.
You’re still here; you never left.
Maybe you don’t love me, but once upon a time, you thought maybe you could.
And now once upon another time, I hope that maybe you still will
if I’m patient,
if I’m persistent,
if I refuse to let go.
Maybe then, you’d come back…find all your things here waiting.
And me, stripped down to truths, just praying I won’t miss everything I threw away.