A Poem on Past Love
or
How to Ease The Pain
or
Dear Lover,

Dear Lover,
I have loved, and I will love, many things in my lifetime, the surest of which is you. At ten years old I crushed on the violin, but left her stone cold after we were barely acquainted. At twelve, I kissed my best friend and made her promise not to tell. When I was 16 I ended an abusive relationship with competition and I met the outdoors with hesitation, but it became an acquired kind of love. I make love to you with my words, but my words cannot be sacred the way my body can be for you because my words are compelled only within themselves, and only to speak the truth.

I miss her. That woman whose name sends your stomach into knots, and your resolve into dust, I miss her. I miss her smile, and how funny she thinks she is, and how quietly she lifted me up. She is not for me, and never will she be, but I can miss her without being a villain. I do not long for her, I do not desire her, and I do not need to remind myself why I am here and not there, but I do miss her. I do not miss her because of anything you are not, but because she grew me and she listened and taught me and held me and hurt me and stayed and left and because none of it ever truly goes away. I am yours, and in a way she is mine. There is a locket-sized piece of her soul lodged in my chest and darling I must point out that you would love me so much less without it. She blurs your vision and muddles your thoughts and makes you boil over with shame, but without her I could have never been that same. What it is that you love can exist only because I have loved her, the same way I am shaped by my affair with depression, and crafted by the perversion of my relationship with being. And when you see the gift it is I think you will know why I keep her. She was light and I was a pinhole, and if I shine it is only because she taught me how to polish. I have become the sun you’ve always seen in me, and I will light your skies for all my life if I have any life in me, and if you never ask me not to love the things that made me whole.

A Poem on Past Love on iTunes

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