Christmas books on Better Book Titles.
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Your fingerprints are all over who I am now.
Typewriter Series #616 by Tyler Knott Gregson
I dropped a bowl of cheerios
on the floor this morning,
milk spilled everywhere,
even in the corners I can’t clean
like underneath the stove
and in between tile cracks.
I didn’t cry.
You and I may have different
definitions for healing,
but all I know is
I’m not afraid of turning the radio
on anymore and
the walls don’t talk to me
and I can buy myself chocolate
and call it love
instead of self-pity.
I don’t avert my eyes on subways,
or fold in my lips until they are invisible.
I smile at everyone I meet,
and I had an entire conversation
with the lady at the post office
and didn’t flinch once when
she mentioned her lover
or her plans for the weekend.
I stopped looking for you in coffee
stains and vodka bottles.
There is a piece of me deep inside
that still misses you everyday.
The only difference is I stopped reaching for it
the day I realized the knocking at my window
would never be you coming back
to collect the things you left behind.
The people who are meant to be in your life will always gravitate back towards you, no matter how far they wander.
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