when I didn't staunch the bleeding.

"The wound is the place where the light enters you." -Rumi

When you left, I didn't staunch the bleeding. I didn't try to hide, or save face, or cover it up. I cried myself to sleep, and woke up to fresh tears. I forgot to eat, and didn't turn to my usual escapes. I let it wash over me again and again- allowing for me to feel tormented and broken. A shell of a person, going through the motions because life didn't stop, even though I felt like it should have. I was knocked off my axis- neither afraid, nor caring enough whether I course corrected.

"Don't let her see it. Don't let her see how she broke you." Why? I allowed you to. I gave you the power to break me. I gave you permission. I trusted, ignored, bargained, and loved to get there. You took all of that, laid it down, and walked away.

I didn't want to wake up in the morning. Didn't want to believe it had really happened. You'd really left. Having it reaffirmed by the reactions of everyone around me- the shock. My trying to explain, trying to paint a picture where you weren't the villain, or I duped. People forming narratives around us, and me finally not wanting or caring to correct them.

My hope for us faded quickly. I think it's because of the bleed. I knew the hemorrhaging was vital- get you out. Let you go. Feel it all- I had to trust I wouldn't break completely. Trust I couldn't do it as I had before. I had never let anyone in so fully- of course excising you would be the most painful. Still- I cut you out.

Time is a funny thing- I thought it would take so much longer for me to let you go. For me to feel differently about you. Emotional cutting isn't always a productive process, but for me it was everything. It was the portal, the change, the clearance. I didn't give myself arbitrary dates- I stopped crying when there was nothing left to cry about. I stopped missing you when I realized I really didn't. I stopped hating you when I realized I was only hurting myself, and hating you was still awarding you a certain amount of feeling. You told me during the breaking you weren't mine anymore- as if I'd ever treated you like a possession. I stopped it all when I realized I was no longer yours.

I don't want to bleed like that again- in the corner of the bathroom with a towel over my face, or on the kitchen floor, or under the covers. I don't think we're allowed an infinite amount of times to drain ourselves the way that process does. I left a piece of me behind with you. The piece that thought I needed you, and needed to constantly prove I loved you, deserved you.

The rest of me turned towards light- towards happiness, towards wants. The pain in my chest is gone, and you with it. Months ago, I wasn't sure I would ever stop the bleed- now there's just a scar.