I wore her black sweater for weeks.

Something about the sweater made me feel closer to her.
It smelled amazing.

I loved her demands,
but she slightly reminded me of my mother.

I loved knowing that I can trust her,
although I doubted myself often.

We started off great & ended just as quick as we started.
Which has since left a sour taste in my mouth.

She had big walls and I hoped to be like Jericho breaking them down.
She has many layers and I longed to cypher through it all.

She's taught me many things,
it was hard to keep up with at times.

But gone to the ether she goes since she ghosted me.
It last 3 months.

I've lusted after countless women after my ex.
Often gave myself a magical thinking high.

Oh how I can be whisked away by the perfect girl.

Truth is perfect people don't exist.
Some people can leave you more scarred than you originally thought.
While others aren't even capable of what you're in need of.

We have to be careful not project our needs onto others.
Chances are they can't fulfill those needs.

You're in control of what you need.
Getting what you want takes patience.
It's about finding someone that gives you a mutual reciprocation.

Anything else is just called magical thinking.
A mirage.

Choose to live in reality,
chances are it's much better than you're fantasy.

I felt inspired to write this since there are many songs and poems written about heartbreak.
Many people who have been through what I've been through.

The soul crushing heartbreak.
Leaving your heart shattered into a million pieces.
With the hope that one day reunite seems like a distant dream.
One that you go in and out of subconsciously.

It's been years but the scabs are still existent.
Lately I can't help but pick at them.
Leaving me with ****** and deeper scars.

You don't just move on from someone you loved for years.
Neither do you replace them with a rebound.
It isn't that simple.

Although I believe you can move forward with your life.

Few of us have a happily ever after.

I hope my story changes for the better.

Today I decided to write a trilogy about the woman I loved and still do love.

Something I never shared with others before.
Perhaps because I trapped us into a pretentious bubble for years.
Amongst other things.

I would have left me too.

While at times she had no room to breathe.
She loved me, and all my undiagnosed baggage.
She listened to me,
she made me feel safe.
Something no one has made me feel in years.

I've written about a few but never her.

Whether she comes back to me or not,
She's the only person I've ever loved.

Excuse me while I mourn the loss of my first love.*

I found out you still run around
in the pockets of my mind.

Did we lose ourselves in each other?
Or was it only me?

I know nothing I say or do could bring you back.

You never belonged to me in the first place.

I've stopped projecting my fantasies and realized,
what lust is,
and what love isn't.

You can't use another person to heal.
If so, it doesn't work for me.

Writing about you tells me how real it was.
How real we were.

My biggest regret is not sharing that with others.

She was once my editor in chief,
but now I've decided to start accepting applications.

How do I forget?

How do I escape the memory of someone who meant much to me?



I wonder if anyone else in the world faces this problem too.



She was tender, kindhearted, and non-judgmental.

She held me like my mother used to hold me when I was little.

But that's not why I miss her.



In my religion, we call homosexuality a sin.

That's why I describe our relationship as a mirage.



I don't miss her for the *** or any of that mess.

I miss her for her friendship and the numerous conversations we had.



Honestly, she was a best friend I didn't have since my mother passed away.

Nor will I ever have again.



Although, I don't believe I was a profoundly good friend to her.

I did things I regret and other things I can't take back.



Now I lie away from a dream I had about her.

Wondering how in the world I can get her back into my life.

I think about our memories intermittently.


They still haunt me.

Especially the bad ones.


Thought about writing you another letter,

but the chances of you not reading it are high.


I've needed to give myself closure.


I did love you but it was wrong and I could never love you in the ways you wanted.


In those moments,

you were my best friend,

someone I counted on.


Now you're a distant memory,

a counterfeit mirage.



I've written about you,

I've talked about you,

and now it's time to forgive you.


Forgive you for what, you might ask.

Forgive you for breaking me to pieces.

Discarding me like one of your toys,

and acting like I never existed.


I forgive you, Claire.