On an icy, forlorn eve, another night unfurls where I dwell entangled in sorrow. I lament, yearning for you while your breath endures. You bestowed upon me the art of dying, liberating myself from the confines of what once cradled my heart. To breathe in the agony, the angina that fervently simmers within, may well be the essence heralding my demise. Yet, in the nocturnal hush, fleeting serenity surfaces, gradually comprehending the delicate allure of surrender. Still, the ache seems interminable.

I grasp your chilliness; perhaps you too mourn the living. Perhaps, this is my inescapable hell. Your absence alone serves as sufficient punishment; your words have already lashed me with the severity of your tongue. I am bereft, each passing day leaving me more fatigued than the last. Amidst the turmoil, I endeavored to reconcile, drawing insights from your spoken words:

“I don’t love you anymore, I don’t love you. The love just faded, after we last spoke.”

In that moment, clarity embraced me—I comprehended fully. I was never enamored with her from the start; she merely mirrored the contours of my own existence. Ultimately, you've illuminated the path to self-love, self-respect, emotional control, and altered perspectives. A perpetual gratitude I hold for you, for gracing my life. Regrettably, I acknowledge that I've marred yours. It has been an arduous odyssey, yet I will persist in the pursuit of my own happiness, finding solace in releasing the past and embracing the notion that not everyone can simply 'let go.' - Trystin M.D. Rehfeld
© Trystin M.D Rehfeld