It seems like each day is an attempt to pry your memory from my grasp. And I'm so convinced that I don't love you anymore so why am I holding on to the fleeting snippets of dreams we both knew could never last past the night.
I have forgotten what you looked like without her with you. I forgot what she looks like too. I have to let go. I know that. I don't know why but my hands don't seem to get the message. Your quotes are still on my wall. I still have your notes in my wallet. I don't read the letters. I don't. I can't. why would I anyway? You didn't mean what you said. The only word that you ever meant that you said to me was goodbye.
Yet I can't seem to free my hands from your ghost's. I can't grasp any others and say hello. I am letting go of you. It's pointless to try anymore. You hurt me. You loved me. I loved you. But it's past tense. I'm sorry.
The summer breeze dries my tears and softens my grasp on what used to keep me alive. My fingers slowly open and can finally grasp blooming flowers that can bloom into something beautiful.
YOU ARE READING
Honest Confessions of Letting Go
Teen FictionI'm not sure how I feel about you. Still, uncertainty fills my heart and seeps through the cracks that you had been holding shut. The holes you had been pressing your fingers to have now been abandoned, everything I was seems to be slipping out. I'm...
