She can only say I love you so many times before
The words mean nothing anymore.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love.
I love.
I love.
I.
I.
I.
.
.
.
Meaningless.
Who feels love anymore?
She asks after one cider too many wrapped in a Christmas sweater.
Telling herself it’s barely November.
You’re a loser.
You’re a loser.
You’re a loser.
a loser.
a loser.
a loser.
loser.
loser.
loser.
Some words sting harder in college than middle school ever made them feel.
And some words linger longer than high school lasts.
*****.
Loveless.
Loose.
She starts another cider.
Pathetic.
Hated.
Failure.
Awkward.
And how about some wine now?
Wine?
Whine.
Win?
Gin.
Drink?
Drink.
It’s time to change herself
She decides this and it is.
And it always will be.
It is law.
It is law.
It is Law.
It is.
It is.
It is.
It.
It.
It.
Is the start of yet another person
With the same eyes but different hair
A different voice.
A new person.
A new person.
A new person.
Person.
Person.
Woman.
With value. Intelligence. Beauty. Grace.
Silence. Voice. Love.
January will be a new start.