i'm slowly digesting
the reality of you.

i still think of you
when i'm drunk.
i still stare at your number
in my phone,
my heart trying to convince
my brain to dial,
but my brain always winning,
reminding the heart
of how that number has
hurt you and hit
you and made you ashamed
to be who you are.

today i'm not ashamed
and i'm not afraid
and i'm not angry,
not unforgiving
not naive
not sad.
not even a little
bit.
not even at all.