Catharsis
He left me.
After four years and a million memories, each one now stings like a paper cut soaked with vinegar.
The weight of my love for him crushes my chest and my lungs scream for relief.
But instead of helping me breathe, I watch as he walks out my door one last time.
I drown the rivers falling from my eyes with sangria and try to silence my gasps for air in my pillow.
As dawn begins to peak through the window I find myself reaching into my bedside table.
The familiar crinkle of paper acts like a lifeline pulling oxygen back into my lungs.
My pen seems to have a mind of its own as it spills my sorrow onto the page like blood.
Hours later I look down at my scarlet magnum opus and the tears have stopped.
I’ll be okay.