Letting Go

I filled out a postcard for you, but when I finished, I placed it back on the fridge.

I filled out a postcard for you, addressed it and everything. Took it off the fridge, signed it with "love always," left it in the living room for a week, and threw it away in the end.

I packed up a box of your things, but when I finished, I left it in your old wardrobe.

I started to pack your things, the clothes you left behind and your water bottle, the one with the stickers that you were so proud of.

They were in your wardrobe, then on the window sill by the dead plants you left behind, but in the move, I needed the box.

I took a photo of your things in the trash as I packed my own belongings instead.

I wrote you a poem hoping maybe you'd miss me and read it online a few months ago.

I wrote you a poem, but I couldn't finish it.

Kept crossing things out, starting over, deleting, rewriting, until it became this mess in my drafts with a weight I couldn't hold onto anymore.