Someday I'll Tell You About December

I. How do I make sense of all this?

Is it strange that I can only write about it

now that it's over?

II. We spent most of our nights laying on his couch

watching the screensaver change on the TV.

Every moment of December felt mediocre

and intense all at the same time.

III. I gave him parts of myself I'll never get back.

Somehow it's easy to forgive him.

(I don't know that I'll ever forgive myself.)

IV. Last night I dreamt about the way he looks

coming out of the shower,

hair soft and wet, smelling of mahogany and spice.

I didn't write it down in my dream journal.

I didn't want to remember it.

V. I know it's real this time

because there were no slammed doors.

No angry tears. No yelling.

Just acceptance and softness and trying and trying and trying.

VI. Can we remember this as something good?

VII. I wanted it to end but also I didn't.