Barren. Decay. Useless.

The places we used to fill with so much red are so gray now.

I sit in the aftermath of our love;

part of me wishing that we’d never come here, another part glad for what I’ve learned.

I know that someday we will sit together and laugh at who we were. 

I am still, sometimes, who I was when you left.

Sometimes, I would rather you be here. 

Sometimes, I would rather erase our whole story from recall. 

I know I needed it though.

I am so damn grateful for you.