When I had my heart broken— 

the first time– 

I spent years writing letters

in poetry.

Like messages in a bottle  

hoping she would find them 

washed up on the beaches of the memories

we created together. 

When I met the new girl,

I made myself promise

that when this ended

I would not search for her

like I searched for the last one.

I thought I had learned that holding on

after someone decides they don’t

want to love you anymore

is always more painful then 

letting go of the person

you thought they were.

And god forbid I put myself

through that pain again.

So I said,

when this new girl inevitably

breaks your heart too

you won’t look for her. 

When I had my heart broken– 

the second time–

I realized that years ago,

all those letters I wrote in poetry

were never for the first girl.

I wrote them for me 

hoping I would process

and forget all the good memories

that I couldn’t separate from the bad.

And now I can’t write about anything

other than how I miss this new girl

who isn’t new anymore.

Because I never really learned how to

transition

from thinking she’s the one,

to realizing that she’s just a name

on a list of memories

of people who’ve left me.