I feel there’s no boundary
between me and the world.

Everything comes in,
everything goes out.

The membranes of my skin
let anyone enter—
and let all my self-love
slip away.

I’m going to live
in a small apartment,
letting go of everything
we built together.

And it hurts—
it’s not easy.
It stings like running a marathon
and, just as I thought
I was near the finish line,
realizing I’d taken the wrong exit
and now have to go
all the way back.

I’m too tired
to start over with someone else.

But I shouldn’t think about that now.
I should start over
for me.

I’ve been trying
to be so strong these past days
that I haven’t allowed myself
even a single second
to be
merely weak.

I found out you moved on,
you’re with another woman.

I felt nothing.

I thought I would cry,
tear my hair out over you—
but I think I love myself now.

My weekly therapy sessions worked.

I’ve written about this before—
the missing piece.

Yes, the piece is already here.
I don’t need to search for anything.

Who said emptiness must be filled?
Who said it’s even empty?
Couldn’t it be a wound
that only needs to heal?

I am already whole.
I just need to be aware of it—
and that
is the hardest part.

My mind
keeps whispering
that what I’ve done
is unforgivable.

— I am not worthy

One day,
these tears will stop falling.
The well will run dry,
and I will be able
to smile again.