Your gift is still sitting by the fireplace
all wrapped up in brown paper.
But now, it’s covered in tears.
They’re like acid,
melting into the leather that has your initials carved into it.
I guess I had it just in case things worked out.
But now, I’m realizing that you were the gift.
I guess I had too much hope for us.
And hope is worse than reality I think.
Because it lingers for way longer than it should.
And we hold onto it so tight
just waiting for things to work out the way we want them to.
I had hope,
and now I just have tears
pouring from my eyes and onto your initials.
I would be lying if I said that my heart isn’t a little bit broken.
But I will be fine
we always are.