For once this isn't about you.
For once I can breathe freely.
For once the ocean doesn't remind me of hunger and blood and daring, and therefore of you.
For once you're not stuck in my head like a sad love song, a bubble of bittersweet that resurfaces holding a reflection of your face.
For once it doesn't hurt when I find your hoodie, still under my bed, still stained with ketchup.
For once I have the courage to put it away, to touch it, to touch the sore spot where you were once attached to me.
For once missing you isn't an urge to run to you, it's just wanting to stay and watch you go.