Slowly I will unlearn you.

Like forgotten winter layers stowed away in worn boxes and suitcases,

tucked within closets and basements.

I’ll take these dark-too-soon afternoons and fold each moment–

each long morning cradled so perfectly in your arms.

each country love song shared, loaded so heavy with desire.

every three-hour conversation that danced and drifted into the night, carrying all our life’s memories, all our future dreams of four wheelers and wood stoves, of slow afternoons eating casserole on the front porch, barefoot and easy.

all those hard back-and-forths we’d have rather not had…yet they peeled back the layers, giving us insight into all my fears, shining a light on all your insecurities. Everybody has ’em.

all those talks of a future family that looked so similar in our minds eyes

every moment of you whispering ‘maaaarry meeee’ so soft into my ear….

I told you not to do that.

Yes, I’ll take each one and fold them so gently into crates and shoeboxes then stack and hide them away into all the dark corners until the next season when I’m ready to sift through them again.

I’ll decide then to hold onto the beloved layers I can’t bare to part with and at last, let the others go…

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