i. This is the last poem I will write for you, because we haven’t talked in a long time. I’m out of excuses to call you. Tired of waiting for you to be the first one to.
ii. I’m done replaying the past like a broken record. Done, crying over spilled milk. Done looking for where I went wrong, why we went wrong.
iii. I’m letting you go. I’ll stop praying for you to come back. It’s okay. This is for the best.