It's okay that you broke my heart,
It's okay that the pieces are still tucked behind pillows and underneath my bed.
It's okay I haven't figured out how each piece fits back together-
I've stopped feeling so puzzled as to why I can't let you go.

I stopped searching so **** hard for why you still get under my skin,
And pondering ways it could still work.

It's okay that you found a way into my journals and poems and scrawls upon scraps of paper.
It's okay that I let you so far in that you still haven't found your way out.

It's okay that I write this now because I stopped shaming myself for writing you, about you, even shamelessly writing to you.

It's okay because the most beautiful thing about heartbreak is all I've made out of it, the art of it all.

It's okay because these words outshine anything you could have been for me.

It's okay because even if from the outside looking in I'm holding onto a ghost of someone, I know the gossamere you I once knew is accounted for in these poems.

It's okay because I wouldn't have embraced the humility of not only missing you, but the general humility of life if not for having my heart broken by you, someone who is a good person but not a good person for me.

It's okay because I found out that genuinely loving you didn't take what I could make to new heights the way embracing the humility of continuing to love you has.

I fell stories when falling for you and these words that only could have been created through heartbreak brought me back up.

So it's okay that you genuinely broke my heart,
And it's okay that I'm writing about it now.
It's okay if you read it and it's okay if you know.
It's okay because I stopped letting the ghost of you haunt my every thought.