Respiros

And as I smile, half-drunk in front of her, I tell her how I would never have been able to have her, like this, had it been for you. But I also realize I would have never been able to find her hadn’t it been for you. I realized you had to leave to make room. Make room for her, and everything she is.

You leaving allowed me to see within myself, and with that, I was able to look up and see someone again . And my eyes met hers—for all of what she is and what she isn’t. She walked in with the door wide open, not through a crack that could barely move under all the weight inside. You left, and with that, you took away the pain. I now understand why you had to do it, why I had to do it too. With this, I feel my claws loosening, letting go.

Yet, whenever I see her looking in, into the space you left, your name still lingers in the air. A faint reminder of all that had to happen before it was ready—your departure, her arrival. And then I kiss her, helping her settle her things down into me, into the space we are now thinking of rearranging. I thank you, looking up at the moon shining above us, for making room for her, and for everything that came after you.