unkept

you were there at the side table glued to the edge

also hanged at the blue wall near the bed

for you are kept inside of me

and all the things we could have been 

but I learned to break glasses 

and tear photos 

burn letters 

and let go. 

you were there at the back of my notebooks 

the unreadable scribbles and flames

on the drawings in an unknown number of scratches 

written in poems and my home screen 

but I learned to erase and peel pages 

change covers and reset storage 

I learned to buy new papers. 

you were there at the beat of my favorite song 

as it grew louder on my earphones 

dancing to the dance floor

as the light from the disco ball emerges

but I learned to turn down the volume 

unplug the external device 

to pause the music

and stop. 

you were there at the cold coffee I drank earlier 

mixed with ice and bitterness 

seated next to my chair

holding my hands without a doubt 

even on the handkerchief, I used to wipe my mouth 

but I learned to wake up late and not have any breakfast

I stopped drinking coffee and settled for tea 

I used tissues and disposed of it. 

you were there on the fragrant smell that poked my nose 

the familiar scent of roses and thorns 

holding tightly to your left behind polos

and the checkered shirt on the hanger of my closet 

but I learned to cover my nose for the perfume-like sweat 

to dispense things not to fit to my body 

and to pick just the flowers and not the spine. 

you were there standing beside the frame of my door 

as you turn the silver knob and walked to the porch 

and the glimmering stars fell from my eyes. 

I learned to open the gates 

for people who are dying to leave.

untie ropes, 

unlock shackles, 

both from me and you. 

you were there in front of me

and I was there too

but I choose to not keep you anymore.