A Love That Won’t Let Go

What happens when the purest love won’t turn into hate?

When the love that wrapped so gentle now strangles me,

sometimes slowly, sometimes all at once—

the tides of grief and loss knocking me over and over again.

When it hurts to cry and hurts more to feel,

and wishing and hoping does nothing but reel.

When to lay my head down means imagining your face,

when everything I do takes me to another place—

ungrounded and stuck in the ground all at once.

Looking after myself, but for what?

I don’t know how to take care of this me

that I don’t know.

This new growth was a bit too painful,

and now I am resentful of my own face.

When will I recognize her?

When will she be my new love?

How long will I hold on to this thorned stem, dead rose?

Is it just to feel the pain,

to know my existence is real?

But is the pain worth this just to feel?

If I can love once and twice, why not a third time?

Why must every end be the end?

What if letting go means I win?

Every ending has a new beginning, they say—

but what if the ending was not mine to make?

Change is the only constant,

and yet somehow, we are still not friends.

I feel so bitter and heartbroken,

and having trouble finding ways to mend.

So here I am, sitting on the very same fence again.