Thought I was done,
thought I was through.
Done and through thinking about you.
I told myself long ago
that November would be the last of me to appease.
Yet I caved.
I saw you.
Toothy and generous.
Clever and cunning.
Conniving from clever.
Generous to monstrous.
This is dedicated to you.
Ripped away my baby flesh to expose a fulfillment.
A slaughter in which you bestowed upon my hips…
and mind which fell for yours.
Your lips matched the color of my blood
which bled violet before you.
It hurts to cry because I know you lied.
when you said you missed me.
That you cared.
I know that now because you were never there.
For the longest time I haven’t cried
And I swear to God,
the one you don’t believe in…
that this will be the last time.
Letting go means to come to the realization that some people are a part of your history, but not a part of your destiny.