You’d told me I deserved a day of silence and to put myself first-
So I purge cleaned the house.
I’d been walking barefoot through the snow with my ghosts for months-
Begging the universe to give me a sign that better things were coming,
My face was almost as pale as theirs by the time spring came.
I went through every closet and pantry-
Throwing items into trash bags and leaving them on the curb,
I felt lighter when I looked at them and realized
that each one represented a past version of me.
The girl who learned to keep everything-
Old clothes. Old apologies. Old survival mechanisms,
losing anything voluntarily felt dangerous when so much had already been taken from her.
And I found pieces of myself tucked into every room-
I stared at versions of me who knew how to survive things I no longer needed to survive,
And I allowed myself to love them enough to let them go.
Putting myself first wasn’t about becoming even better at being alone-
I’d mastered that years ago.
I was finally making room for the version of me who doesn’t have to be.
She’s been trying to move in for a while now.
You met her in pieces-
On the couch with my head against your chest,
In the passenger seat when I almost reached for your hand,
In every poem where I accidentally admitted you mattered more than I intended.
There were too many ghosts occupying rooms meant for someone still alive-
The house needed emptying.
You told me I deserved a day of silence and to put myself first-
So I carried them outside one by one,
thanked them for keeping me alive through winter
Then left them at the curb.
Because Spring came. Then Summer.
And somehow,
So did you.
