When they leave

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When they leave you, don’t keep fragments of them in your purse.

Take out the old train tickets from journeys to see each other,

and take out the old receipts from your round of drinks together in dark little pubs.

Don’t let their forgotten jacket linger in your wardrobe,

and don’t let the old pair of trainers they left on your shoe rack catch dust.

Don’t you dare wear their stray t-shirts at night, convincing yourself its just for a moment — to reminisce.

Don’t hold on to the memory of their kisses, or the tender way they spoke your name like butterflies.

Let your heart only sometimes ache with the bittersweet pang of the end.

Know that you’re better for it,

happier for it,

wiser for it,

and anchored to nothing else but your own self and your own freedom.

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