I cannot tell you of the multiple joys of solitude
The deliciousness of the loneliness that hugs the space
Between my blanket and my body.
There’s something about the anonymity of the rapid lines
That enter and exit the metro, and my insignificance
During the one hour ride of uninterrupted silence
That makes me feel happy in an indifferent crowd.
It’s strange I find happiness in this –
And you wouldn’t understand why I do.
Just know this:
When I decided to stop loving you,
I realized, astonished absolutely,
That I could love myself.
I am still reeling under the impact
Of that revelation.
I am still drowning under the intensity of the love
That I’d reserved to you, and which now falls on me,
With an unapologetic tenderness.