writingsforwinter:

The dark bones of our shared history grow rustier 

every month.

I no longer live in the same city I loved you in, coincidentally

the same city in which we found and left one another. 

Every morning I remove another rib, 

another clavicle or shoulder blade from our skeleton, 

like maids do with underwear and blouses

from the washing line.

What we had together is slowly dissolving into dust.

In the rearview mirror of our relationship I can finally see

regret trailing behind like a tumbleweed on the highway.

Forgetting is easy when memory comes cheap.

We were both the victims of numerous knifings, all inflicted

by the other person, but today, in this new city,

I woke up and discovered for the first time 

that the wounds didn’t hurt.

I still love you in some past life, but in this current one,

loving myself comes first.

(via writingsforwinter)