I screamed goodbye to you four years ago with eyes full of tears and a throat full of nails. My world was ash back then and telling you goodbye was snuffing out the last burning ember of hope.
I cried goodbye to you in my car, alone, counting my way through a panic attack when I saw you in the store six months later. I've rarely hurt so bad in my life but I still remember the pain lancing through my heart like a needle into fabric, even after all this time.
I whispered goodbye to you every day for a year as I trained myself not to look for your car in the parking lot at your old apartment building. Even when I knew you had moved, my broken heart found the habit hard to break and I kept thinking you'd appear right there where I left you.
I said goodbye to you again today when I saw a picture of you. You're not looking at the camera because you're looking at me. I'm out of the frame, but I remember. And that picture of you posing for the picture I was taking caught me in the chest like a taser until I was stuck replaying that day over and over again in my head.
Every time I say goodbye to you, I have to say something to myself too. I have to remind myself that I deserve better, even if you never believed it. I have to remind myself that I have worth, even if you never saw it. I have to remind myself that I am precious, even if you never thought so.
Every time I say goodbye to you it hurts just a little bit less. Maybe today was the last time I'll have to do it. Maybe by this day next year, I'll have forgotten you and the agony of goodbye will be over and the reminders will be truths etched into my heart.
