My Letter to _ That I’m About to Burn

I’m going to pretend like it didn’t hurt;
brush it out of my heart,
pack it in a pocket of a pair of jeans
that I’m about to set on fire,
because they say fire can cleanse all things.
I’m going to pretend that you didn’t notice
the synchronicities falling out of our head
spaces to the rhythm of a metronome
that we programmed in a time traveling window.
I’m going to pretend that you didn’t feel
the galaxies pulsing through our bodies
and forming nebulas with each heavy
dark matter breath and vibrating touch.
It’s easier to pretend this
than to say how much this is
like a machete to my soul,
and that you’re a fucking coward.

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