Dear

Devils, I can’t believe it’s been a year since I’ve seen you and almost that long since I’ve heard from you. I know we went longer in the past, but this go round seems different and strange. It’s probably because this time last year I had such high hopes, and I was so very happy to have you back in my life.

I know you read my blog, but for the life of me I cannot figure out why. Why force me out of your life, only to read my dumb poetry? I would love some closure one day, but I don’t know what that means. And if it never comes, that’s okay, too.

While I would love to have you back in my life, this is my farewell. I am going to do my best to not write about you, not think about you (at least not every damn day). I am sure your ego does a dance every time I write your name, but I must move on, too. I truly loved you and will always hold a special place for you in the cold storage shed where my heart should be.

I hope you think about me with more than just a laugh. If I see you on the streets of NYC, I will be nice and say hi, but don’t be offended if I keep moving. This last arc of our “relationship” really destroyed me, and while I know it is not all about me, I can’t help but feel left to rot. I am still picking up the pieces. I know I hurt you, but you hurt me, too.

My favorite thing in the wide world was making you laugh. I hope you find reasons to laugh every day. Please keep writing, because you are damn good at it. I hope you are practicing your bravery, because you owe it to yourself to pursue that which makes you afraid.

Wishing you a wonderful birthday, full of gorgeous smiles, loud gulps and laughs. I am glad you were born and I am so grateful we crossed paths in this life. Sorry for the drama of this letter, but we both know poets have a penchant for the dramatic.