Letting Go Is an Acquired Taste

by Christina Hart

The art of letting go and moving on is an acquired taste one only knows after they know nothing else for long enough. The first step is forced, and every step after is felt.

I traced a circle around the beauty mark on my thigh, marking what was still mine. Some things they can never take with them, so if they want to leave, let them.

For years I had been holding on to men who no longer wished to hold on to me. So I listened. I let them go.

I was holding on to you. I was holding on to us. And it was killing me.

To sum it all up, he taught me two things: I am still not good enough, and I am too good for him.

It’s so much easier being alone. I know the ways I can hurt me.

I turned too many shades of blue choking on all the things I wanted to say to you. “I thought this was real” must have gone down wrong and “Come back to me” was lost somewhere in my windpipe. Do not resuscitate and do not bring flowers to my grave. Let the beauty be before the death of it all. Let it be in knowing what we had and what we could have had again had one or both of us not been so god damn stubborn.

There are only so many ways you can tell someone you love them until it finally sinks in that they just don’t want to hear it.

I am forgetting the sound of your voice. I love you. I am forgetting the sound of your voice. I need you. I am forgetting the sound of your voice. I miss you. I am trying to remember the sound of your voice and it still hurts but not in the same way it used to.

You are either mad or you are not. Love only infuriates it.

I light torches at the feet of men who say they want me. They all sound the same at this point and I can no longer distinguish the truth from the lies. For once, words aren’t enough. I need someone to prove it.

I’m passing notes in class again to the girl who used to be me. Leave him before he leaves you. He isn’t worth it. You are worth so much more than 2am texts and conversations he will never remember.