It will always be easier
to blame emotions
than to blame you.
It will always be easier to
hate me
than to hear me out.
That’s okay.
I’m glad at the progress I’ve made.
At the person I am,
happy,
and trying to love myself better
than I did then.
I didn’t really like myself,
then.
It will always be easier to say:
“It ended”
than there are days
where I can’t shake the
memories of
you loving me
well.
Not well “enough”
or barely,
but actually holding me in my fragility
and accepting me,
wholly.
It will always be easier
to blame the bad parts,
the last months,
than to blame you.
It will always be easy
to wish you well,
but,
if I’m being honest,
it still stings to say
“Goodbye”.
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