He still might read this.
I can only hope that he won’t guess it’s about him.
It’s better if he believes that this is an Ode To All Absence.
It’s easier when he thinks my anguish comes in many faces.
When we met, it was made clear to me that to be his, I’d need to dissolve into nothingness.
He thought with just a ring, he could tame me, blend me up until there weren’t any pieces of me left.
I should’ve told him, I don’t bend even to my own kind.
I can only hope, he’s realized, ribbed cages can never house a wild heart like mine.
So I set myself free the only way my absent father taught me how.
I turned my back on nurturing old beginnings that disguise themselves as new.
He still doesn’t get it.
This is a story of refusing to lose myself only to gain a promise of pure bliss.
I know this because just last night, in a dark movie theater his lust kept speaking in a foreign language, I refused to interpret into true love.
The world kept looking away at his public affections but my soul watched intently, urging me to run with all of me still intact.
Sometimes, I console myself with a history lesson that we’ve had good times before, but wasn’t that over four years ago?
I’ve shredded so many versions of myself since then.
How has he stayed yearning for the same me?
He might not really get it but I no longer submit to childish cravings.
So here’s to another year, he won’t appear on my Christmas Wish List.
I’m saying goodbye for the last time. And he should know, I don’t like repeating myself!
Cover Photo By: Bafana Makhubo