How To Move

2

  There are so many things I want to tell you but I can't. If I say it out loud then you'll hear me.
  I am afraid of you hearing me.

  This is where you would say something like, "then don't say it out loud." It's hard to listen when it's not actually you.

  A guy gave me his number yesterday. I want to call him back but every time I look at the nearly unreadable numbers I think of you. You're handwriting was so perfect. I've thrown it out now, but I still remember how perfect that note looked hanging on the inside of my locker. In the most neat cursive you wrote, I lied. I don't like you. I love you. 
  

  The funny thing is, I don't remember how I felt when I read it. Do you remember?
  Maybe I'm just telling you this so that I remember.
  But I still wonder. I wonder about a lot of things.

  Should I call this guy?
  Is it time to move on?

  You will never read this and so you will never have the answers for me, but I have no one else to ask.

  My mother passed a few weeks ago. 

  She would've wanted me to move on, to be happy.

  I'm afraid that if I move on, I'll only be disappointed by what I see. I'm afraid I will not be happy.
  You took my happiness when you left. 

  One down, so many more things to say. 

  You took my heart with you, but you didn't leave me yours. You left me heartless. You left me in pain. You left me to bleed out of grief where you stole my heart. I survived, but a scar remains.
  It still hurts a little. 

  That felt good.