When I told you, “I’m done,” what I meant to say was, “I love you and always will.”
And when you asked me to refrain from contacting you, I turned to the world instead, hoping just maybe you’d hear my voice one more time.
None of my poems are for him or for her.
Every single one has been written for you.
Maybe you’ll never come back.
You likely never will.
There’s not much I can do, but if you ever find these poems, do know they are written for you.
I was told one time that love objects have no gender.
They have no race.
No socially constructed roles.
They are just objects one attaches to.
Four years ago, I attached to you.
You said once we had a special heart connection, and it’s true—we did.
It wasn’t easily replaced.
Nobody could really replace it, and I don’t think anybody ever will.
I wasn’t romantically in love with you.
I’ve never been romantically in love.
I was, though, in love with you.
To date, God has blessed me with three love objects.
You were love object number two.
While I’ve fallen in love again, I’m forever shaped by you.
I’m beginning to realize who writes these love letters.
She’s not 28.
Her name is Rebe, and she falls in love with every woman who looks like Miss Honey from “Matilda.”
While she and I will miss you greatly and are sorry for any pain caused, we must carry you now in our hearts and see what this new love object has to offer.
We will still cry.
We will likely fall along the way.
We will be okay though.
Thank you for holding our hands, even if you couldn’t stay forever.
We don’t feel well right now, but one day we will smile again.
Thank you for your gift.
We are sorry we struggled to put you down.
It’s not easy to do when you come across a love object.
May you love others the way you loved us.
May someone else attach themself to you.
And may you both cherish this.