3.20.25 // "We Used To"

"We used to."
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I no longer want to use that phrase.
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I don't want it staining my tongue, dripping with desperation.
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I write long narratives of missing you, of missing us, of missing me, of missing the promises made in the sea of blankets we retreated to after long days of yearning, reaching toward a future we promised again and again.
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I don't want to write about my lonely grief.
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I don't want to sit in the exhaustion of frustration and confusion.
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I don't want to pretend that my resentment from pivots of being an active participant to a waiting room patient isn't festering deep in my bones.
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I don't want to plead for you to see the changes that have befallen the once-blossoming newness to a barely beating heart.
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I don't want to feel shame for sharing my "we used to"-s, which approaches your ears like a buzzing mosquito, nagging, yearning for the sweet connection and nourishment that comes from your taste.
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I won't use the term "we used to."
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From now on, I'll be writing in the present tense, and if you're in that present, I hope the tense fades.