I rarely pen goodbye letters,
'cept when I know that I am someone's medicine.
I am not medicine, I am human. I do not function as a prescription.
It was not easy to digest:
I gave my whole heart, but it only hurt
deeper, and deeper still
when they would say:
you are the only good thing in my life,
the only one to save me from me,
I would be empty without you.
Without me.
If I were subtracted from the formula
that made up you, I wonder if you
would collapse?
The idea grew and grew in me,
until it imploded into realization:
My love had become medication,
and you became its addict.
Our emotions had become slings filled
with guilt, and it's clear that
there was only one solution.
People are not meant to be medicine,
Love is not meant to be poison.
My goodbye letter may as well have been a secret wish,
that you'd find the good in yourself, and that we'd heal
from the toxins that our love created.
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