Dear Loss,

 

I am watching you walk away

(for the God-knows-how-many-th-time),

but this time it is different.

 

Instead of stringing my heart along behind you,

I have chosen to stitch myself into the lining of your backpack

so that I may go wherever you go, too.

 

In the holes and frayed edges that you asked me to fix,

I have left tender kisses and gentle hand holds to fill the gaps.

In the circular patch I attached to the face of your bag,

I have sewn heartfelt words

that I will never have the opportunity to speak to you.

 

Now you will carry me,

like a sack of worn out love,

on those delicate shoulders of yours

to all the new places you will visit

that do not bear my scent.

 

You will place mementos inside of me that remind you of

another girl,

another time,

another place.

 

I will sit in the corners of rooms unknown to my body,

but well known to yours.

 

Like a subconscious reminder that you are missing something,

you may grab me by the sleeve

and stare me in the face

without knowing exactly what you are looking for.

 

But all the while you wear me on your back,

I will be there,

whispering.

 

Suddenly,

you may realize that your things are not falling through the cracks,

that the fabric holding the bottom of your heart together

was mended by my hands.

 

Someone will complement your patch,

and you will be taken back to the day

when you handed me a needle and thread,

asking me to leave my mark.

 

I have realized that I have fallen

in love with you or maybe,

the idea of you,

and I have accepted that you cannot (will not?)

love me in return.

 

So this time, I am letting you leave.

I am letting you walk away

without feeling the need to call attention to myself,

to feel your gaze on mine,

and have all the memories come crashing

into the space between us.

 

From now on, I can only observe your life from the outside,

no longer close enough

to sink beneath your sheets,

but heavy enough

to remain the weight on your back

as you carry me on.

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