To the man who cared for me after the man I can only talk about in my poems:

You finished taking all that you left here in boxes filled to the brim

All but one photograph lost in one of my albums

Threads you used to stitch me back together evaporated when I realized it wasn’t you who gave me permission to move on from him

I rebuilt myself in the loneliness before you came but after he left

Somehow I was convinced some of this foundation of my new self was created by your hands

You just made everything more beautiful

The rolling in of thunder, the dripping of rain while you slept soundly next to me

I wanted it to be you

But we both knew it wouldn’t be, yet I still could dream

I still run over the day you left like a scar too stubborn to fade

Is this your permission to let me start forgetting?

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