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Dearest Love,

How are you doing?
I think I still know the sound of your voice.

The missing you isn't constant anymore,
It comes in waves.
Sometimes the moon is full and the waves are big and crash tears all over my face.
Sometimes it's a barely audible lapping sound gently whispering your name.

My life is good and my heart is full.
I wish you could've known this version of me,
But you were the one person standing in the way of it.
I wish I could share all of this with you now but you are not in the place to be loved as deeply and intensely as I love.
Maybe that will always be our tragedy.

Goodbye love.
I am going to keep letting you go.

Think of me often.

*Forever yours
We were visiting your parents for the weekend
We're adults but they made rules anyway
The first night you snuck into my bedroom and broke their rules anyway
The gentle pull into your chest and intertwining your legs with mine woke me up
We laid there a long time
Our lips less than an inch away from each other
Just breathing

You softly whispered to me
"You're beautiful"
Your eyes were closed.

I asked how you knew if you couldn't see me
You replied,
"I don't need eyes to know you are the most extraordinary woman I have ever seen"

I had never liked being called beautiful before
But coming from you it sounded so different...

I think I can get used to this.
Many men had whispered to her
That she was the kind of woman that men sat around wishing for
That she was the dream type

But as she opened her heart to the love they promised to fill her with
They realized that she didn't need them at all
We're just a bunch of drunken kids
With hearts that got too broken
And no concept of how to heal
They spewed rumors like sparks

So I turned into flames

I engulfed them with my self-love

And burned out all their hate
My being alone is a choice
I refuse to settle for someone simply because they present themselves to me
I will never be with someone out of emptiness for I am whole by myself
I cannot give in to mediocre love merely out of physical attraction and try to ignore how his company makes me feel more lonely than when I am just alone

My only problem is
You set the standards incredibly high
You make every one else seem mediocre
And I am having a hard timing loving anyone who tries to follow your footsteps
Does growing up mean that you are not allowed to feel?
Is it about covering up your scars so well that we all forget the burdens that these shoulders have carried?
Am I entering a competition to see who can tape together their broken pieces the best?
Does growing up mean putting a piece of duck tape over your stories to silence the sum of who you are?

Because if that's what this is...
I beg of you,
Please do not make me do that.
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