There is no trace of you.
All belongings mailed back.
Not even a rogue sock to show you were here.
No social media post or our love that I can look at and think of when we were happy and debate on deleting.
It’s like you were never here.
Your key no longer on my ring.
Your name not on my tongue.
And yet, I wreak of you.

If I am anything, I am persevering.

At the end of the day I have no regrets.
I was the best version of myself in this relationship.
I gave everything I could.
I didn’t put up masks or walls or conceal the way I was feeling.
I gave it everything.
And I can’t make him love me if he doesn’t.
At the end of the day it doesn’t matter why he doesn’t love me.
Or that he can’t love me because of trauma or mental health.
He just can’t love me.
And I am worthy of love.

I am worthy of love.
I am not the insults past lovers have called me.
I have so much to give.
Pure and loyal love.
Which will be reciprocated.
I will be loved so fiercely.
No one.
Not even me.
Will be able to doubt it.
I will be loved so fully that I can show the depths of my love to another.
I am worthy of love.

It’s not my fault I love you so.
You made me like this.
It’s not my fault you were burned by another.
I cannot erase those scars, but I promise I am cool to the touch.
I do not want to disconnect.
Don’t make me.
I can go on without you and I’ll be fine.
Maybe that would be easier.
But I don’t want easier.
I don’t want to stop loving you.

I still believe in us.
I still believe we’ll make it.
I catch glimpses of him coming back to me.
I know I can be his home if he’ll let me.

I am more happy around him than without him.
Despite his half-affection.
It’s not that he’s not trying, or not being nice.
He cuddles me and buys me flowers-
But that doesn’t conceal the way his eyes don’t whisper I love you anymore.