sometimes i want to rip up every photo of us
other days i tape it all back together.
i almost deleted your number last week
but then i didn't.
i almost did.
i deleted our conversations
released them into the technological oblivion
of past lovers
and empty words
and feckless attempts at reconciliation.
i wished i could remember it all one last time
just as it happened,
before it was soiled.
forgetting you is not linear.
there is no formula i can use
and no numbers i can crunch
to heal.
it's advances and retreats.
good days
and days where
the walls are closing in as i am watching you run farther away.
two weeks ago i kissed a new boy
i felt happy and free.
last night i cried myself to sleep
because i realized your scent no longer lingers on my pillow.
it doesn't get better each day.
sometimes it gets worse.
sometimes it gets terrible.
and sometimes i cry in the car when i am driving home from work.
but it gets better each time it gets good.
each speck of light i let in
eventually will turn into a flood.
i know the darkness will keep coming back
but one day there will be no more room for it all.