Moving On / Bo Ferguson

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.