The other side of the
bed is cold. The side
you pretended to sleep
pretend I believed you
were sleeping in. The
side that really was
not a side, but a whole
completely different
bed. It is cold now. It
is empty without you.
Well, not really.
The world has
conditioned me to
believe that without
you, my bed feels
empty. It is not empty.
There is air taking up
the space you once
lied in. There are
blankets and pillows
and my own limbs
have invaded that area
and reclaimed it. I am
where you used to be.
I can finally say I live
in my house, and I am
not just haunting it.
It is foolish and
childish of me to put
faith in the memory
of you. To let you keep
existing in my space,
in my vision, even
having you off in the
sidelines is too big of
a role for you. You do
not deserve to take
up any room in my life,
even as just a learning
moment. You did not
teach me anything
besides that I should
listen to my feet when
they tell me to run the
hell away. That I should
get used to biting off
the hands of people
who take and never
give. That I should
understand my worth
and that it is not
measured by the
amount of resources
someone like you can
extract from me.
You were nothing but
a weight tied to my
foot since the day you
weaseled into my life.
Your love was a drug-
the kind that makes
someone nothing but
a body, nothing but
obedience and
servitude. My life is
not yours to use. I am
not blood you can
leach from- not a bank
you can run a heist on.
I am not a currency to
be stolen nor defaced.
You came into my life,
convincing me that
you were someone in
need of aid. You abused
my kind and forgiving
nature, you pretended
to struggle so I would
help you. When did
helping turn into
slavery? When did
even the most simplest
of things become
impossible for you?
When did mere empathy
become a strenuous
task? I begged you just
listen, but you did not
have the strength to
even try and uncover
your ears.
I could have tried to
make you see how
much you needed me-
I could have cried or
begged or slept my
way into making you
see what you were
doing, or lack thereof.
I could have walked out
of the house that I built
for us, I could have
stormed out in a flurry
of silent rage and left
the static of you behind.
But you did not put in
the effort to care when
I was there, so why
would you waste energy
on missing me either?
I woke up on the cold
side of the bed this
morning. I like this side.
It is my side now, and
it is not empty. It is
full of a future that is
not reliant on someone
else\'s eggshell emotions
and never being good
enough. It is full of
potential breaths, of
untamed life, of a love
that does not get traded
for use or worth. It is
full of me- and that is
just the way it should be.