Once I was a child, and innocence was a close friend. We did everything together. It’s a shame we lost contact

Once I was a stranger, and wanted nothing more than to change that when I saw her across the room

Once I was an idiot, and only wanted to know of her. Speak of her. Dream, of her…

Once I was my own heart, leaving my cage of ribs to find comfort and peace on my own sleeve.

Once I was a river, gushing beauty and emotion. I now know why so many are fond of nature’s wonders

Once I was a poem, and my soliloquys were perfected, my diction comparable to that of Dickens or Bukowski. And when she read my words, her lips became honeycombs, her eyes the stars themselves. In those days, nobody could stop me. Nobody could stop us.

Once I was the moon itself, a light in a place of dark. A beacon of hope. A symbol of strength.

But with my personality as strong as the moon, and her eyes as bright as the stars, it’s no wonder we found ourselves needing space.

Once I was an arsonist, burning through the pages of journals and diaries. Their filled pages became unsent letters, all the words I never said trapped in paper, bound in ink. I still carry around a picture of her, worth more than all those pages combined.

Once I was a heartbreak, shattered to pieces so unique, you could mistake them for snowflakes.

Once I was a survivor, and if you want some tips on how to make it through a blizzard or an arctic winter, I know a guy…

Once I was myself again. Whole. Complete.

Once I was an explorer. I found the air in my lungs again. I found the voice in throat. I discovered I didn’t need her anymore. I learned who I always was… always am. I found what I really needed, and it didn’t belong to her.