The Luck of Losing You

How I cry for you continues to embarrass me. 

I let my face streak with tears each time I hear your name. The irony of us sharing such a thing will never be lost on me, as I will never stop hearing yours. I cannot deny the cracks it causes each time the six letters are repeated directly at my never-prepared face. The bittersweet resentment accompanying the once beloved word may never disappear completely, but I welcome the day that the memory of your face begins to fade. ​

The luck that has come with the loss of you is not lost on me. 

I have found a purpose in the resilience you have forced me to embrace that I could never find in my love for you- but I will not deny once recklessly using our love as a reason to justify my being. I have spent too many sleepless nights pleading to understand why love, alone, cannot seem to justify my living.  Although it makes the anchor tied around my heart begin to tug when I recall the moments we shared, times I used to wish would continue infinitely, I no longer cling to a haunting hope of sharing them once more. You cannot be my reason for being, and because of this, our love was never meant to be everlasting.

What I found in you, I will never find in another.

This truth no longer saddens me, nor causes everything inside of my body to violently twist when confessed. There is both power and comfort to be found in knowing that there will be no repetition of you. There will be no unbearable loss of you twice, and we will never share a cautious first beginning ever again. I will never be forced to endure the pain of your betrayal for a second time- and while I will not live out the rest of my life unscathed, you will never be allowed to add another tally to the lines which mark my greatest pains. 

You have affected me irreversibly, but you will never have the power to affect me further.

With your loss came the promise of never being a victim of your careless hurting again. You will forever have the infamous talent of escaping accountability. You will continue to hold the hearts of others in your hands, feeling no remorse as they begin to drip with innocent blood from being squeezed too hard. You will feel no regret when the violent shade of red splatters all across your body, as the vital organ is dropped and discarded. You will never experience the overwhelming pangs of guilt that come with a second thought, as you watch the ones most lovingly devoted to you burn. You will continue to conceal your dishonesty with perfect precision. You will forever craft your interactions, making sure to hide the ways in which you do not care if the ones you claim to love are left wrecked. This is the consequence of loving you.

I am aware that this writing may lead a reader to believe I hate you, but I never could. 

I will resent you for a little while longer. I will bask in the healing warmth of anger as I process the loss of you. I will embrace the hope-ridden delusions of denial until I can no longer ignore the painful new reality you have left me with- but eventually, when they begin to itch, I will start to stitch up the fresh wounds now taking up space on my skin. I will assess their shape only to realize they all reflect the shape of you. I will admit that this hurts. I will accept that it exists, and 

I will be happy without you.



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