eventually i got out of the bath. let the bubbles drip down my thigh and pour onto the white tiles. put on that dress you said i looked so good in. the one you couldn’t wait to take off me. brushed the 3- day old knots out of my hair. made myself chicken and rice, the dinner you promised to cook me but never did. held my mothers hand and had that be the only physical intimacy i felt for months. only checked my phone out of necessity, not out of hope that you had called. because you weren’t going to. went to sleep before midnight and didn’t let the image of your hands around someone else’s waist keep me up at night. painted my fingernails light blue and blocked out the memory of you complimenting my nail color in your bed. took myself out on dates and forgot what it felt like to walk arm in arm with you down broadway at 5:30 pm after your class. rode the subway and focused on the book in my lap instead of the thought that the last time i was on M train i was going to see you. i finally got out of the tub and gave myself permission to let you and your promises go.