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.