He’s sleeping peacefully while I remain awake, watching the clock count toward the next day.

As another day approaches, our memory now haunting; I wait and hold onto a hope that I know is useless.

He won’t call me and tell me he was wrong, I won’t get the text that says he wants us back.

I’m not the girl that is worth driving all the way to stand in front of and realize he can’t lose.

I’m a passing storm, only good in the moment. Never one any wish to stick around.

While he is free and washed his hands; the winds cry his name and the rain struggle to wash my memory of him.

I’ve tried to drown his smile in the sea, lose his laugh in the sky, and tear his touch from my skin in the mountains.

I’ve cried until earthquakes formed, screamed until trees lost their leaves and grew cold as if Hell had frozen.

I’m a storm now forgotten, but with every storm I have left my mark. No matter how little, a part of me remains deep in his mind.

I don’t hate for being pushed away, but just know the love I have for him may not be returned, at least it will be in whispers on the wind.

Just like his memory will be in the air that I breathe.