Dear You,

I’m writing this note with a suitcase by the door,Packed with the memories I can’t carry anymore.Each shirt still smells like the love we once knew,But I guess even good things outgrow their glue.

I folded the laughter, the late-night talks too,Tucked them in corners, like I used to with you.But the zipper won’t close—there’s too much inside,Like the way your name echoes where my heart once lied.

I thought love was staying, weathering the storm,But sometimes it’s leaving so we both can reform.So I’ll take this suitcase, this weight off the floor,And learn how to miss you a little bit more.

Goodbye,Me