I’d like to say I love you, but I’m leaving

In the same way that only one reason was enough for me to go, I know that ninety others exist to make me stay. However, I assume, I’m leaving.

Of all the other times I left something and moved on, this time I swore to myself I wouldn’t look back. I’d like to say I love you, but I’m leaving.

I’ve given up clinging to our memories, to the quiet noise of his breathing, and to the fact that even after so many years, I still can’t find someone whose fingers fit perfectly with mine in the intertwining of hands.

I promised myself I wouldn’t call you again, I wouldn’t look at our pictures and even if it cost my sanity, I wouldn’t hear your voice anymore.

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It was liberating and desperate at the same time. I’d love to say I love you, but I’m leaving, baby.

I let go of our similarities, the things that reminded me of you and the annoying habit I had of laughing every time someone told that joke about pet bottles, since you did.

I decided to forget about our songs, our discussions so ours and the stories I wrote thinking about the two of us.

I swore on my cat’s life that I wouldn’t go anywhere looking for you. That I wouldn’t ask your friends about you, and that even if someone still touched your name, my heart wouldn’t race like an out of time clock.

The truth, love, is that I chose to break with our longing and leave you, as you have for the last few years.

I’d still like to say I love you, but I’m leaving.

Your neglect hurt me so much and in such a dense way that it was too difficult to cut ties with our past. It was painful to end this pain that was the only thing that still connected me to you.

My eyes were slow to open, my chest was slow to breathe again. My heart still, poor thing, insisted on loving you. But I won’t say I love you baby, I’m leaving.

Mariana Ravelli

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