Sometimes I catch myself thinking back
To the version of me from a few months ago,
The me who sat outside your downtown apartment
For the last time.

I can picture that day—crying, screaming,
My heart, irrational
Begging my feet to walk back up to your door,
While my mind, logical
Pleaded for my hands
To put the car in reverse and drive away.

Long story short, my mind won.

I think of that version of me sometimes,
Like a ghost lingering behind my eyes,
Not there to haunt me,
but to reveal itself once in a while.

Although that version of me
Is not too distant in the past,
It feels like a lifetime ago.

My heart was so sad,
Yet unaware I was on the edge
Of something so beautiful and great—
I just couldn’t see it through eyes blurred with tears.

Now I’m lying in my own bed, alone.
In the green light of my lamp,
Listening to the bubbling of my humidifier,
Surrounded by walls we painted orange together,
But only I now can feel the color’s warmth.

I am lying here with my head at the foot of the bed,
Because oddly, over the past few months,
I have found comfort in feeling misplaced.
I have learned I can feel peace
Even when I am in pieces.

I feel relieved to climb in bed alone,
To hold nothing but my stuffed animal,
And feel no other touch except my own
And my dog at my feet.

I lie here wondering
How could there have ever been a time
When I hurt that much?
In the same thought, I remind myself
I will love something so greatly
That one day I will hurt that much again.

In the meantime,
I can lay here in my bed,
Relieved, alone, and okay.