I feel myself letting go of what was craved for months.
Old thoughts remind me of why I used to want him.
But they've grown into habits rather than wishful yearns.

Eyes turn glossy as old pain is read.
Dried tears creep above pores,
begging not to go to waste.
Chest spins inside out
as I wonder why the good
deceivingly outweighed the bad.

Our past became habits of memory,
memories that should be treasured
for what they were,
not for what could be once more.

Who knew a name creates affliction?
Not because of what is felt
but lack there of feeling.

Perhaps this is the start
of letting go.