I am watching.

Spring become Spring.

The leaves, doing their thing.

As I sit here, I know from all of my dreams and torments of late

That people should not call their ex’s, “ex’s,”

If they were a true love.

Which, mine was.

Saying “my ex-boyfriend” does not inhabit the person that was.

The living joy that was.

True love’s don’t always work out.

Mine didn’t.

And he was wonderful.

I miss his kisses.

I miss his smile.

I miss the weight of his body on me.

He used to massage me, and take out all the kinks.

I miss the way we saw beauty together.

The moon.

Well, it’s spring.

and I’m slowly moving on.

I won’t call him an ex in my heart, tho.

And all the things he didn’t “do”, or make right, to make “it”

Be forever —

I didn’t do some of those things, too.

I forgive him.

I forgive us.

All of it.

Now in the golden morning of a new spring

With a cigarette (which I save for occasions to savor)

I say hello to the heart pain I still have.

It’s there.

He isn’t.

Savoring the pain makes me feel sorta closer to him.

Maybe someday, I’ll get over that too.