You know.

Dear Ex Lover

I promise I’ll stop chasing your memory in my dreams.
I’ll stop bringing your name up over cups of coffee, muffins, and loneliness.
I will marry a man and I will lay my heart on his chest,
and I’ll have his daughter, and she’ll have eyes reminding me that God still believes in second chances.
I will be reminded of all the times that we loved,
like there were expiration dates tattooed on our inner thighs.


If my daughter ever comes home crying, with a heart filled with question marks,
I will hold her like my mother held me. 
I will clasp her face in my palms like the Koran on judgement day.
I’ll tell her that love is the passion that allows you to do the right thing.
And if she ever feels as if she is alone,
I’ll remember your name and I’ll mumble it under my breath.
and if she asks me what I said;
I’ll tell her I know what it’s like to drag yourself out of a cold war
and then being too worn to clean up the battlefield that it has made of you.

I’ll tell her that i know what it’s like just to want someone to remember you,
and that apologies are like oxygen masks on a hijacked plane. Not there.
I’ll tell her to never regret loving in permanent ink,
and that scars only give you stretch marks, something to gossip about.


And if my daughter’s mirror ever looks unfamiliar
and she’s too embarrassed and proud to run into mummy’s arms,
I’ll pray, that she has friends with hearts filled with thousands of fire flies
who are not too cold to pray with her, who will tell her to stop looking for the light at the end of the tunnel
and find God in the darkness, just like my friends did.


If my daughter ever walks in my house like shattering glass, I’ll tell her about you.
I’ll tell her that I hurt like c-sections birthing dead babies, and that we cried together,
and we supported each other, and we smiled together like our smiles were the only ones that mattered in this world. And i'll tell her that I got hurt for being a woman who loved people that did no love me.

Dear Ex Lover,
I hope my daughter never knows what a goodbye kiss feels like.
I hope she never knows what “I’ll see you later.” really means.
I hope she never memorizes the dial-tone of a last conversation,
because a broken heart feels like poisoned butterflies taking their last flutters in the pit of your stomach.

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