We should all accept the idea that people will leave. I'm trying to keep their absence from feeding into my insecurities, the "unlovable" versions of myself that I tuck in at night.
   

The first time a friend left me, my stomach filled with fire that wasn't hot enough to evaporate tears. But I can't be angry at them. People are allowed to cut away their burdens that smell like my cinnamon perfume.
   

I'm writing this in the "memo" section on my phone at lunch.  While I'm sitting on the floor of a bathroom stall, lunch in the trash and earbuds in, I'm vowing to breathe, and let go. Remember that I am more than those who love me.
   

But, after relaxing I'm left with repressing emotions, I'm still alone. Maybe, just because I've forgiven them for leaving doesn't mean I can't be hurt.