Save Your Selfie

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We wandered around Brooklyn and ate brunch at Sweet Chick

And drank bloody Mary’s that made me mad.

Mad at you for letting me go, 

mad at myself for making this more than it was, but mostly mad at God for making you matter to me. 

When we broke up I remember everything I hated in you, I actually hated in myself. 

And that realization is what broke me open

to a world of knowing myself.

And meeting true loneliness in each moment.

You were my vehicle for meeting God in everything around me.

To realize I didn’t hate you,

I hated me, 

But without you, 

I only had me to rebuild.

I came to understand nothing had ever mattered and that my means had measured our relationship.

I often wonder what it’d be like to be friends now, but I hate to beat a dead horse more than I already did that day in August,

or that terrible December weekend,

or that DC night that turned into Compass Coffee and breakfast you didn’t buy.

That same morning we walked down 7th street and said “I guarantee you’ll be married in 2 years” as if marriage was the solution to the void in my chest.

Two years later, no marriage in sight and more whole than I’ve ever been. 

You don’t need a man to save you, do yourself a favor and save your own damn selfie.