there is a certain form of victory in realizing that you were not the first thing on my mind when I woke up. I want to say I've moved on but I still have to say your name through gritted teeth and it still hurts every bone in my body you used to give chills upon. I guess there are traces of you everywhere and it is going to take a long time before I am clean. but I've come to the realization that the world continues to move no matter what happens, oblivious to the sound of your footsteps when you left, to the rough thud of my heart that fell to my stomach when I saw you wrapping your arms around her and to the gentle crumbling of my bones when I slid down the wall crying, battered and worn-out. the wind was strong at the beach where we left our secrets in the shells we threw back into the ocean, and we kept each other's biggest one, but the wind is also strong at the balcony of my house where I sit trying to turn my pain into something poetic and when it gusts through the windows to your bedroom when you wake up without my morning calls; I guess what I'm trying to say is that the sun is still giving way to the moon every night for the past 315 days and the wind is burning into my eyes, making me remember the way your shirt waved in the wind that day at the beach, and embedded your scent into my senses. but someday, I will be able to stand looking at the sunset, the wind carrying my laughter and the world would not be the only thing moving; I am too.