Keep them as a muse, because it’s rare that passionate obsessions ever end well. Write poetry about their mouth and the smell of their neck in the morning as you nuzzle into it, but don’t pretend that you can live in that dream state forever. Burn the memory of you two laughing and dancing onto your soul. Nothing is sacred- only the time travel back into those moments. No one can take that from you. Score the sound of their voice onto your heart, but don’t listen to it often. Remember what they did right, and remember what they did wrong in your moments of weakness as it unfolded in front of them. Remember that before them, you were whole. Perhaps they made your blood rush, perhaps they made you feel more alive- but you always were. And you always will be. Don’t regret revealing yourself, don’t regret allowing them to see behind your mask. Do not judge them for not taking off theirs fully, either. Do not believe in the fantasy that once was between you. Don’t forget that moment behind closed doors, drunk and weeping. Do not try and see beyond what they’ve shown you, as there is nothing hidden worth searching for or believing in. If they wanted to show you, or try to, they would have. Don’t weep over them, don’t let them hold onto you this way. They’ll leave if you stay and if you go. Accept that this springtime of them has been burnt in the summer sun. Let this forrest fire burn and rage away at what was between you. You are bound to no one, and no one is bound to you. That is a blessing.