"perfect love casts out all fear"

tell ‘em.

Closure.

What a revelation

and relief

"Strolling in the park/ watching winter turn to spring"

Sun in my eye

Might of tree

Mighty tree

I walk the streets

and pavements (we frequented

Without you).

I pave them anew

I paint a new memory,

a present tense piece (where you're no longer the sitter)

The normality of coming here

(with you

sharing a laugh

and a cuddle

words

touch

as we)lay on a mass of green

This (is your favourite type of)

weather

I appreciate it

(in a different way)

(I can't tell if it's tears forming or) wind in my eyes

I smile brightly whilst I walk through this park,

recounting many a time spent

(with you)

I listen to love songs

My head bobs along,

I feel free enough for a spring to form in my step

and remember with a true blue and orange joy

Joy of the (former)

Joy of the present

The sun on my face

In my eyes

The wind blowing my

flowing garments (here and there)

I smile - my cheeks ache a bit

I feel beautiful.

I appreciate myself

and

I appreciate walking

in this park

and being by water

(Without you).

Life, like the seasons, is constantly temporary.

And like the rolling hills through

the window on a long train journey

it's goes on

and on

and on

and on

and on

and on

and on

and on

and on

and on

and on

I don't want to be grippinggrasping,

tightly holding your hand

with my muscles tense and contracted

suffocating you

'cause that's not love.

See, I've read about it -

It's called 'jealously'

it stems from insecurity

so alien to me

'cause I usually don't feel a thing

when I see an exchange of words

between you and a pretty stranger

However, this exchange

'Tween you and said pretty stranger

made me feel strange

irked the sh-t out of me

To the degree of having to

separate myself from the

conversation you were having

(That I may as well could've just not been apart of)

Trulytrulytruly

I know you're true

But truthfully

thoughts of my disposibility

flooded my senses

I couldn't hide it

washed over my like a wave

I wasn't angry

I was hurt.

I saw your eyes follow her

and I was hurt.

I felt like you were slipping away

I felt like you were loosely holding my hand

"I did feel hurt. And it's minuscule" (I say to my reflection)

Recounting stirs that ache in my chest.

But reigning supreme,

above all this sh-t,

all this noise, all of my fears of

disposibility

Is you

holding my hand tightly

Continually checking up on me

"We're okay, aren't we?"

I believe you when you speak.

I believe that you'd never want to

hurt me.

"Why are you facing away from me?"

time

Thankful that I'm seeing things in colour again

Thankful that I can laugh loudly

dance freely

and do so truly

(Without faking it)

.

John Keats' house a week before my 25th birthday.

Ode to a Nightingale,