Letting Go Is an Acquired Taste

by Christina Hart

And all our songs are now just songs that remind me of you.

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

I took back my heart and crammed it into my bag and walked away for the third time, the fourth time (who’s counting?), the last time. I promised myself I’d never let myself fall for green eyes and beautiful lies and words that felt like knives ever again.

You were true love and worshipping hands and gratitude in your eyes. You were birthday cards and presents and surprises to make me smile. They were filthy words and empty beds and lies that sliced my insides. They could never love me like you did and they never tried. My body has become a tomb and I am learning how to unfeel all the hands that touched me that were not yours.

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

I am window shopping in the faces of men, looking for something resembling love and I do not see it anywhere. What a tragedy.

I can still feel the way you held my hand and told me it would all be okay. It wasn’t. I can still taste the sting of the last time you told me this love was forever. It wasn’t. I can still picture your eyes looking at your phone as you told me it was no one. It wasn’t. I can still hear your voice telling me I was e v e r y t h i n g to you. I wasn’t. I can still hear the banging of the drums in my heart as I told you I was done this time and you thought I was joking. I wasn’t.

Promises always tasted sweeter coming from the lips of someone who would never keep them. There is beauty in the challenge. There is a bitter hurt in the aftertaste. I have learned. I have learned. I am still learning. It was fun. It was fun. It is no longer fun.

Somewhere there’s an empty hall where all our songs are playing. We’re supposed to be dancing, but I don’t even hear the music anymore.