Recovery

Messages I Almost Sent You, But Never Did

I still have the flowers you bought me last Valentine's Day. They died a little while ago, along with the love you used to have for me.

I sometimes sleep in your sweatshirt because it reminds me that what we had was real. It doesn't smell like you anymore but it comforts me to know that even though you don't love me anymore, you did. You used to.

I don't think I'll ever forget the sound of your voice. It's been months since I've seen you last, but I can still hear you saying my name if I try hard enough.

I visited your town last week. Every single spot had a memory. It was a weird feeling to go back to a place that doesn't feel as welcoming as it once did. I noticed someone covered up our initials we engraved in that bench by the boardwalk and a piece of me fell apart. I wonder if it was you.

I don't cry in my sleep anymore. my mom says I'm doing really well but sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and it hurts all over my body, just like the way it did the night you told me you didn't want to love me anymore. 

I don't think I'm as sad as I was a month ago but I still miss the feeling of your hands in my hair. I recognize you as a comfortable sadness. Like realizing a part of you is missing, but understanding that it's never coming back.