I'm over you, you know.
I've moved on.
After weeks of tossing,
turning,
sobbing,
hyperventilating,
and no sleep,
I'm over you.
You can speak of her and I won't bat an eye,
when before it would tear me to shreds and twist me into knots.
I can speak to you and not feel my face get hot.
I can get dressed without trying to incorporate little bits of you into it.
The colors,
the necklace,
the style.
I am back to me.
I am playing again,
writing,
reading,
singing,
I have reclaimed all the songs you had repossessed from my archive.
It's bliss.
But now it's back.
That sinking feeling.
The dark came back while you were gone.
Do it.
Take it apart.
Do it.
Take control back.
Do it.
And in spite of all of it.
You seeped back in through the cracks.
You aren't good enough.
How are you?
You'll never be anything.
I'm proud of you.
You've never been good enough.
You're stronger than I was.
You seeped in the cracks caused by others.
You're wearing it again.
I was over you you know.
