At 2:17am, I deleted you from my past.
It took 8 months, but I finally let go. Picture by picture.
Memory by memory.
At 2:29am, I unblocked you.
You are now allowed to see the life I built without you.
I have washed my hands of you, the instigators and the memories of what was.
Because the truth is, nostalgia is one sided.
For every good picture, there was a negative caption.
A sparce moment after when I asked myself why I was taking the effort to save the moment at all.
I finally wiped your memory from my heart…
At 2:34am, I checked your profile to see if you still think of me…
And she; she’s beautiful.
Lipstick and tattoos.
Black and blue, the bruises on my heart which steals away to stateless states as she glides by in her rhythmic pace.
Her movement a melody…
How I’d love to hear the songs she sings.
Just to wear a smile, even for a little while.
Taste the happiness that is her kiss, landing on unfit lips.
A pauper, never proper, how I’d treat her like a queen…
She is grace on broken glass.
There’s an air about her ways.
Sure footed, she moves forward…
All the while second guessing.
Tears do fall.
They flow effervescently.
Steps follow, reluctantly.
But she perseveres.
For she is grace on broken glass.