I’m not used to being free
There’s no person waiting to capture me
No silhouettes lurking in doorways
No cellphone ringing constantly
I don’t know how to feel about the peace and quiet
I know it’s absurd, but I miss the attention
Fix me.
I’m not used to letting go
Clinging to the black bag as they took his body away
His life I took in that house on that day
Shot him twice in the gut with his own gun
After refusing to let me go on a run
I know it’s absurd, but I miss the control.
Fix me.
I’m not used to saying goodbye
It doesn’t get any easier, the amount of times I try
I struggle believing his lifeless body is six feet under me
When he was in my face two weeks ago yelling obscenities
I know it’s absurd, but I miss the fights.
Fix me.