i think when i let you leave i let you leave with too much of me. i woke this morning and called the color teal green. i drank my coffee black instead of with cream. i struggled at work trying not to daydream about whtie picket fences and sunshine and even lawns. i went to the beach to watch the gulls and i never shared one bit of my sandwich; which was peanut butter with jelly instead of honey. you swore when you left i'd be a different person without you and you were right excpet for the implication that i would be better. you stole my laughter and my breath while you were here, but did not return them when you left and now i wake up gasping for air in the middle of the night and weep myself back to sleep. others would say i have become a shell of the woman i once was but i don't agree with that analogy. you were my shell, encrusted with jewels of knowledge and worldliness and creativity and you covered me with it. i didn' know before you left but i know now and i cannot stand the sound of the ocean anymore. i'd ask you to come back but it would be only to steal away your shell and mask this hollow body. and i don' want to do that to you. you're too beautiful to hurt again.