This is a letter to you. You know who you are.
I can't even bear to write your name.
It leaves burns on my fingertips and
it tastes bitter on my lips.
You are my best and worst memory,
depending on my mood that day.
On my better days, memories of you are like
sweet lemonade on a hot summer day.
It's a relief to know that love like that can exist
at such a young age.
On my bad days, memories of you are like
a searing brand on my brain.
It's an ocean of alcohol on open wounds,
it's open heart surgery without anesthesia,
it's drowning while everyone watches.
When you decided to break up with me,
did it leave you in ruins?
Were you the human colosseum?
Please tell me, I'm dying to know
if your decision left you the same way it left me.
I was the living dead, the shell of a human.
Breathing was a struggle,
daggers stabbing my ribs.
It was almost an incentive to stop breathing,
to end my pain and suffering.
My body rejected everything I took in,
but even then, I hardly had an appetite to eat.
It was almost as if my body felt withdrawal from you,
ready to die if I didn't get my dose of you.
A gaping hole in my chest left me weak and unstable,
and my tears were the only thing that
could cleanse the wound.
No amount of stitches could patch me up,
and all the morphine in the would couldn't
get me high enough to escape the pain of you.
It's been almost six months, and
I am trying to hold my head up high.
It's hard when my head is barely above water,
but at least I'm not drowning.
Masking the pain with alcohol didn't work,
and I almost tried to contact you a few times
if I'm being honest.
The simple things force me to tears,
like the smell of your cologne or
hearing your favorite song on the radio or
even just remembering one of our inside jokes.
One of the hardest obstacles in my life
is getting past you.
Almost six months have passed,
and I've made simple progress.
When something happens, you are
no longer the person I first think to tell.
My body lost the crave for your touch,
and it doesn't miss the light caress of your fingertips.
My hands no longer tremor with the
force of an earthquake when I see your family.
Time doesn't heal wounds,
you just gain tolerance of pain.
I try with my whole being to hate you,
but I just can't bring myself to do it.
When you love something with all the love
that you have to give, hatred really isn't an option.
The pain you caused is unforgivable,
yet if you came to my doorstep,
I'm not positive that I would turn you away.
Don't read this letter and think that I want you back.
I want to relive our old memories,
but the old us is dead and gone.
When you walked away,
you signed a contract promising
that you would never look back,
never turn around,
never try for me again.
You've never been one to break your promises.
Don't start now.
I hope you're well,
please take care of yourself.
A little less poetic towards the end, but this is definitely a letter to my ex boyfriend.