Wishes

I don’t wish you hell anymore; I never really did, no matter what I said. I spoke from the wound you left in my chest.

But I don’t wish you well, either.

I don’t wish you anything at all. Wishing shouldn’t break your heart. So I won’t waste my wishes on you anymore.

Only that it were easier to forget…

I wish that I could tuck the thoughts of you into the box that has all of our loving mementos: our book of notes back-and-forth over the first years; the other book with our too frequent coincidences for it not to be fate; the page where I wrote down your favorite things so I’d never forget your love for Klee, infinite mint green, or ginger flavored everything.

So many notes, memories, photos— moments, tucked away into the attic behind my mother’s old Christmas decorations.

I want to forget it all until it doesn’t hurt anymore.

And when I’m ready, I’ll tenderly appreciate all of the precious life that we shared and how we changed each other for the better.

But until then, I’m mending wounds.

It still hurts nine months later. I hold on to the fact that I was where I needed to be & I am where I need to be now.

My future is even brighter than my past. It has to be…