I wash my sheets. I wash my hair.
I move out of my basement, and back into my bed.
I delete the playlist we made off my phone. I can’t bring myself to delete pictures of you. Not yet.
I pick up the things that used to bring me joy. I take baths, paint, laugh. I begin to love myself the way you never did.
But most importantly, I don’t cry anymore when I think of you.
Of what we were.
I’m beginning to leave you behind.