You remember how bad it was.
You remember how good.
You saw her whole
the damage, the beauty,
the talent that made you stay.
No one hurt you like that.
No one was loved like that.
You tried to remain—
not by effort alone,
not in a bond
that never met you.
It still aches
that the talking stopped.
You know you can’t move forward
while holding what has already ended.
Otherwise you become
the thing you won’t keep
and won’t discard.
You pass IKEA.
You see the jam she loved.
And still,
there is someone in the world
you loved enough
to know what jam she loved.