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Feb 2016
your smiles were contraband, smuggled
from late mornings in the kitchen;
your eyes were the deep dark green of
pine trees; bottled wine.

you were dew and early rays of sunshine
and the lightest thing I've seen.

today, I scrolled past a photo of you
and it didn't break my heart.
this is what moving on must look like:
drinking coffee without thinking
of your dress two christmases ago,
without thinking of your burnt food
and firelight laughter and slow-dancing
in your bedroom to fast music.

I still can't sleep on your side of the bed;


I remember you less clearly; have forgotten
what your hands felt like going through my hair,
no longer know the precise melody of your voice
when you got angry, no longer know the intonation
of 'I love yous' from your lips, and I no longer
wish to know.

and so although I am forever loving you
I am in love & letting go.
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