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.





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