This Is What Grieving Your Ex Means, Because It’s More Than Summertime Sadness


I heard your voice last night.
It sounded so different than before.
No love-only words.
I know you were being watched.
I could hear it in your voice.
I called about him.
I just heard about his death.
I cried so much.
What could I do?
I had to call.
I had to let you know I was thinking of you.
I had to let you know that I’m not a monster.
That I think of you still.
That I think of you so often.

I want to be here for you.
I want to hold you.
I want to touch you.
I want to feel your body on mine.

But I can’t.

I can’t hold you.
I can’t touch you.
I can’t feel your body on mine.
I can’t forget how you treated me.
How you called me
a cunt
a pig
a slut

Touching you
Holding you
Fucking you
Would erase everything
that came before it.

Helping you grieve
helping me grieve
has to be done apart.
It cannot be done together.
I’m not strong enough to
not touch you
not hold you
not fuck you
if I was to go near you.

I need the space between us.
I need to let you grieve alone,
or in someone else’s arms.
Mine cannot hold you anymore.
I have to hold myself. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

Writer and bad dancer navigating through life with her words

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