What once was a sanctified in breath and the soft touch of your hands to my palm now seems to drain from the souls of my feet.
I don’t sit days or nights praising the tenderness of your brown eyes.
The straight edge of your white teeth.
And as time ticks ever on,
I realize that the hours that I spend alone are the ones better spent.
Because without you I get to see
Who I really am,
Who I would really like to remain,
Who I would really like to change,
Who I would really like to love differently.
Alone time is spent tenderly and quietly, with me reminding myself that I’m not quite ready for any of the things that you have told both of us that we are ready for.
It’s funny that my hands are ready to hold you but my fingers are not ready to be encumbered by the ring of your voice permanently.
These things are just held too dearly to be marred by your wants.
And who is to say that who I am is someone that need live for you?
And who is to say that who I am is someone that need die for you?
I will hold this to be self evident from here on out:
My life is my own
And furthermore, existing alone essentially becomes more productive for me.