The Final Act of letting go

Letting go had the scent of his body

and wore the shirt with my fingerprints.

Head bowed low beneath a hat

that made him appear mysterious.

Its eyes resembled someone I once knew-

a bit cloaked in smoke,

with some feelings revoked.

It didn't knock,

it sat beside me,

snatched the photos from my hand,

burned them,

and erased your name.

It held my hands as if to comfort me,

laid its head on my shoulder,

as though it had grown tired

of waiting this long

in the same corner of my room

It refused to speak at first,

but then whispered,

"You were never meant to drag it this far.

as it gently peeled the memory off my spine.

Hoping I wouldn’t remember this down the line,

we chuckled as it said that,

as it touched the leftover pieces of my heart.

I hated how calmly it waited—

as if it knew I’d come around eventually.

Quite terrified,

a bit resentful—

that was my approach usually.

But today,

it felt like an achievement that was meant to be achieved.

Letting you go wasn’t hard in the world outside,

but my mind clung to every silent fragment.

The goodbye was quiet—

not loud,

not violent—

just the ache of a heart

learning to be silent.