The Last Wound
Maybe you were waiting to give me this last wound.
This last hurt.
These final tears.
And this may be the last time I’m writing about you.
This last cry.
This final goodbye.
It’s true, I don’t love you anymore.
But dear god how I did.
How I did love you with every shred of my being.
Sometimes, you loved me too.
When you lay your tired aching body next to me and snored in bliss, you loved me.
When you held my hand as if it was something you’d be doing all your life, you loved me.
When you kissed me as if it was habit, you loved me.
Sometimes you loved me. Sometimes I loved you too.
This is not one of those times.
This is the last cry,
The final goodbye.