One day I wrote a last goodbye
and you told me, “Don’t burn it.”
And I did
among a million other things I had lost.
And even though they beg
to be found,
I do not look anymore.
One day you wrote a book of regrets
and I told you, “Don’t bring it.”
And some days I wonder
where you hide it among the shadows.
And even though our past
has so many,
I do not wonder anymore.
I guess you could say I’m healing.