On the fourteenth day
of missing you,
I text my mom,
“You would have liked Trevell.”
Some call this moving on.
She replies,
“I am so sorry it did not work out.”
“The healing that is going to come from this will be transformative. He was special.”
No other words suffice
to capture you.
You pick a card.
I hear your voice,
“What five adjectives do you use to describe me?”
No words suffice
to capture you.
Some call this moving on.
The keywords to my meditations
were once manifestations and affirmations.
In the fragility of the moments
I once told you good night,
I now seek answers in my search queries:
“How to let go.”
Some call this moving on.