After everything
didn’t you learn anything?

You were supposed
to be healing by now,
reflecting on the mistakes,
on the love you gave
that was never solid—
only wind.

It was not true,
even if you are certain it was.
It wasn’t, love.
It was emptiness,
a hunger for affection.

If you had stopped,
just for a moment,
to think about it,
you would have known too.

You shouldn’t be writing
about us,
about our love,
our undone plans.

You should be writing
about your traumas.