Almost Poetic

An ode: To moving on

Growing old makes me so reckless

I don’t take your actions so personally anymore

I don’t make your opinions my truth anymore

Growing old has taught me to not care so much about things outside of myself

It has taught me that I too am sacred

And every thought, every moment of being sure of myself is enough

Growing old has made me so reckless

I’m no longer holding my breath, waiting for your I’m sorry, waiting for your goodbye

I’m reckless in the way I move on with my life, without  your explanations

Reckless in the way I go on living without you

Redefining forever

The way I go on loving everything that reminds me of you

Without wanting to share it with you

I’m reckless in my treatment of the memories we made in storybooks

No longer needing your permission on which ones to classify as bad

No longer taking your classification of what you did to us as a mistake

No longer needing your permission to call what you did to me heartbreak

No longer needing your permission to feel heartbroken about all the tomorrows I’ll be spending alone

No longer tiptoeing around the bitter taste your moving on has left in my mouth

There are not enough apologies to wash it down with

Some men can taste you in my kisses

and I’m no longer apologizing for sharing the parts of me we never spoke about with someone else

At least some days I can still hear my own voice above your goodbye

Above your laughter, above your happy

Nowadays I don’t call it missing you

I call it breathing


2 thoughts on “An ode: To moving on

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