the eight of cups

Forgive me, this is an unsent letter from my heart and waxes poetic and rambling but I need it on the page away from my head.

I did something I haven’t done in years.

I drew a card for you.

The 8 of cups.

I drew in a breath when I saw it, felt it’s truth. Nothing has ever felt so right and so terrible all at once.

You coward.

There it is, the anger. Not hot and angry but a soft rush of the familiar.

I forgot about this, I forgot this feeling. And yet here it is, as familiar to me as you were.

You always were afraid. Afraid to turn around, just fucking turn around, and see? Look at all of this, look at the sheer bounty of potential.

But you always were a coward.

I see it now. Reminded how we always fell apart, over and over. Your fear crushing you and you leaving me and walking away. Every fucking time.

You won’t look back.

But I’d be lying if I didn’t miss you anyway.