she was ready
or at least she told herself she was

ready to forget him

she knew it was time

all the joys
the torments
the laughter
the unnecessary tears

his jokes
his warmth
his indifference

the almosts

the wounds that arrived
right when she expected softness

the songs
the drawings
the letters
the hugs

the misunderstood signs

everything that shaped
that story

the one she lived
and the one she invented

it was time

to let it go

as much as it hurt

it was necessary

she was finally certain

it was never going to be

it was never destined to be

tears slid down her cheeks

because when you release
something you cared for so deeply

you confront the truth

it was never yours

it lived mostly in imagination

it belonged to possibility
to projection
to hope

everyone could have it

but it was never hers

she thought she was not ready

but maybe no one ever is

ready to let that much love
leave

leave with the wind
so someone else
can hold it

she kept crying

her soul heavy

drowning

until exhaustion softened it

and in the quiet that followed

she began to reflect

to understand

that what remained

was not the fantasy

not the future she wrote in her head

but the affection

the real, honest affection

she once carried

for him