[July 1]

A sequel to [October 1]

This is how to forgive
when you are probably being forgotten:
cry, huddled on your bathroom floor,
at 2 AM. Let the loneliness
wash over you and recede, a baptism
of sorts, waves of light. Wake up
at six and pet your favorite cat
as the sun breaks bleakly
over the desert. Pet your cats
often. Pretend that you’re not
looking for texts. Become good
at honesty. Become a good cook. Wish you were
a better cook. Sing through the tears.
Donate blood and let the needle’s sting
return you to your body. Start to heal
your body. Medicine, vegetables,
stretching. Take lots of showers.
Write in your journal every day:
thirty-five days, thirty-six, thirty-seven.
You knew this would happen. One day,
approximately three hundred days
from now, you will look out onto a sea
of people who love you, and he will not
be there. He never was.
Pursue sleep fiercely. Run your fingers
over your old scars and accept each one
for what it is. Weave lavender and ribbons
into your hair, tucking the memory
of him away with each deft movement. Walk home
in the sun. Curl yourself into your bed
like a fox into its den, and remember:
the choices you made were never wrong.


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