“He used you,"
said the psychic with a
look of disgust.

He What?

"He used you.”

But, wait!

What about all those magical nights, when the starry indigo sky exposed
our souls - intertwined - endlessly
wrapped in each other’s arms and dreams - believing we
were stopping time?
It was so real,
so authentic – nothing less than Truth.

"He used you."

Nope.

I wanted to scream
in her face -
You are Wrong!
You are Confused!
Your crystal ball is cracked!
(even though she was spot on about every other aspect of my life).

"He used you."

A part of me knew she was right.
(I hate that part).
That part of me that still finds it
hard to breathe when I think about
the sucker punch he slammed
into my heart on the last day
I ever saw his face again.

A perfect swing
right through my soul,
as a goodbye
(good riddance?)
gift.

“He used you.”

Time Heals.
Shut up.

Anger and betrayal are the
hardest to let go of -  
as if I’m hanging from the wing of
a moving airplane,
holding on for dear life -  not
trusting my own strength.

"He used you."

I won't let go until my
red hot pride ceases to fuel my
stubborness and anger. I won't let go until he feels the same humiliating, soul sucker punch that I did.  I won't let go until endless, sleepless nights consume his mind as he obsessively tries to figure out how he could've been so wrong.

Then I can finally release him, and us, and all
of it – the shame the shame the shame -  
blow it all away with
one deep sigh!
Like a dandelion ******
upon the wind.

"He used you."

But, he loved me.

"Yet, he used you."

He used me?

He. Used. Me.

I wish she had never mentioned it.
Because he always said he loved me.