I finally realize I can't keep it in here forever. With my bare hands, I drag out the pile I've accumulated over the years. I examine everything you've ever made me feel. It's about time to rid myself of what I don't need, and you've become an unnecessary item in the closet of my life. I'd go through periods of trying to talk myself into at least liking you, which is why I'd keep you around. Trying to coax myself into feeling something, anything, for you. I wanted to so much but you made it impossible.

I stare at an image you attempted to paint, and it's amazing how indifferent I've become to it all. On the surface you tried to make it about me; how much you respected me, how much you loved me. But they were just words. Nothing solid or real seemed to find its way into this painting. All it included was everything you wanted. The ocean of your dreams, your obsession. Unsteady waves of what will never be.

I hold it all in my hands, accepting that my effort to dust it off is not enough to hide the fact it's becoming old. You're getting old. The same old story, the same old words, the same old feelings. I have no use for something so broken, something I've tried so hard to fix. But I never did give you everything. It was never something I put my entire heart into because I knew how unstable the pieces of you already were. I knew it was only a matter of time before you fell apart.

I was terrified to be alone with you, terrified to feel anything when it came to you. You tried to pry open a shell that you were convinced existed, but it was only a shield to protect myself from you. I realize that now. It wasn't my fault that I stayed in the dark. I didn't want the light turned on because I didn't want to deal with you. I kept you around because I was afraid to get rid of you. I was afraid I'd be haunted by the guilt.

I close my eyes and get lost in the gentle voices of people close to me reaffirming what I already know to be true. Waiting until my instincts are sharp enough to hurt, screaming. It's time to let go.