Dear You,

I'm writing this to you, but not for you. I'm writing it for me.

It's been a while. You moved on. You don't miss me. I still miss you, and I need to change that.

When I'm done writing this, with the stress of my own hand on a piece of paper, I'll look up origami patterns, fold it into a boat, and set it off down the river. Maybe it'll sink. Maybe it'll unfold. Maybe a child will take it and wonder. But the most important thing is I don't know, I don't want to know, I don't want to think about it. I'm sending away this writing, like I'm trying to send away my memories of you.

Thinking of all the things we've done, and all the things you've done to me, and getting them out on to the paper, and sending it away forever. Like sending a beautiful bird into the skies. A beautiful bird with spikes on its wings, that hurts anyone it gets attached to. The bird flies away, never looking back, and I see it blink and shimmer as it grows smaller, until it vanishes, and my heart finally breaks.

I wish you the best, like how I wish the bird the best.

I just want you gone.