A Series Of Places I Still See You

I see you in bottles of sriracha at the grocery store.

I see you in every empty word document I open, waiting to be filled with the little bits of you I am trying to get rid of.

I see you in my passenger seat, asleep after a long drive. You snore.

I see you in every campfire I build as a hot and pulsing residual anger I cannot seem to discard.

I see you in the unbelievably clear night sky, something beautiful yet unreachable. Untouchable. Unfazed by my hope to grasp it, if even just for a moment.

I see you in every line of every book I read.

I see you in between the lyrics of all the songs I like, and all the songs I cannot listen to anymore.

I see you at the bottom of every empty wine glass.

I see you in my weaker moments.

But I also see you in my memory, through a clearer lens now. I see you for what you really were, but also what I had hoped you were. I can finally separate those things.

I see you now as someone else. Someone I don’t know. Someone I never did.

I see that people change, or perhaps, people are never what we thought they were.

I see opportunities every day to let you go, and I take them greedily.

I see the space you left, and I’m filling it with all the good things that I can.

I see that I don’t need you and I never did.

I see that you didn’t break me—you don’t have that power.

I see that I’ve chosen to be better despite what you did, not because of it.

I see that I have such an ungodly amount of strength and resilience. I see that I have power.

I see that a new chapter is starting.

I see that you’re not a part of that.