I helped myself.
wiped my own tears.
put balm over fresh wounds.
plastered parts of my heart that still were hurting.
gave myself time.
read books that soothed my soul.
heard music that calmed my nerves.
watched movies that made me smile.
bit by bit, piece by piece, I put
myself back together again.
and I gave myself a second chance
because I know that if I didn’t,
The next girl you’ll love, she will be pink blossoms and nectar lips, she will kiss you like dawn and sleep with you like sunset.
She will love you differently and will touch you like healing, her hair a fistful of tender songs to lull you at night
I will be another ghost you’ve long since grew out of and on those rare times you are weak enough for me to haunt you, you’d wake up to her hand stroking your back; her whispers drowning out our daunting past because
what was I,
but a mirror to your demons
and all I’ve done was
bring out the worst in you -
the kindest favor I ever did
was to let you go.
I usually become a ghost to those who longer deserve my time. I’ve never seen a point in explaining my absence to someone who failed to appreciate my presence. You don’t owe any explanation to those who hurt you.