Leave

I don’t want to think about you anymore. I do not want to write about how much I love you because I am sure you no longer do. You stopped loving me the moment I got on that plane. You promised we would always be best friends but all you were was a heartbreaker and a liar. 

I love you and I thought you did but I was wrong. I loved you all the right ways. I put you on a silver platter because I thought you loved me. Every night before I fall asleep, I cry wishing and missing you. Some nights, my mental illness invades my whole body.

I am scared to return to Los Angeles because I do not want it will be like to be in the city that I fell in love in with you. I will want to come knocking on your door, wanting you to show you my left wrist- a reminder I still carry you and that night with me everywhere I go. I will avoid your street as it all feels too much like dying, like I am still a rotting thing. I learned how to bloom without watching you bleed from my thorns. Here is the only thing I know: I don’t want a song, or more poems, or decades of dreams and dreams about you; I swallowed the moon when I left so I couldn’t find my way back to you, but still, you appear every night before I fall asleep – your memory is the most inconsiderate ghost I’ve ever had the pleasure of being haunted by. 

Please. Just leave.

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