I let you go.

I watched you take near two years of love and put it behind you. I could have spoken up. I could have cried for you. But after the week we had, I think I knew. I knew the storm was coming, but I refused to let you destroy me.

So, I let you go.

I decided you weren’t allowed to do this to me. You weren’t going to take that day from me. I mean, you barely watched them hand me my diploma, and then you got on your cloud and rolled in. You picked a fight with me at my graduation after part.

It was rich.

My family was wide eyed and wondering, “What’s wrong with Jordan?”

I knew you were selfish, but wow. They should have been congratulating you. You played me like a fool.

I could have gone crazy. I could have thrown a fit – a fit suitable for nightmares.

But I let you go.

I mean lets face it, I was tired. Tired of holding on to someone trying to fly away. I was a paper weight, and you were a helium balloon.

I know that was a piss poor simile, but I'm tired.

That’s the last time I spoke to you. There were no dramatic calls or visits. No back and forth. So my thoughts were confirmed, and you were gone. Someone just cut the ribbon.

Part of me is happy you flew away. It was exhausting trying to make you stay.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t fight it. Maybe that’s why I let you go. Maybe that’s why I am choosing to do it again.

I’m tired.

Tired of being mad at someone who never cared. Tired of draining myself. Tired of expelling hatred into the world. Tired of pretending I didn’t care. Well, I did care. I cared, but it was anger.

My mother told me, “Put a pin in it. Don’t let him have this night. He’s not allowed to make you cry. Put a Pin in it.”

So, I let you go.

I didn’t cry, until I broke my nail and Mandyz scraped me off the floor. I cried in her arms, but before that, no one knew.

They all asked where you were. With anger I spat out, “He’s gone.” And you were.

Because I let you go.

But I was tired then, and I’m tired now.

It took me a while, but I can finally say, “I am OK.”

I’m tired of caring.

I think I’ll take the pin out now.

I wish you well. I truly do.

I can only hope I helped you changed. I can only wish she doesn’t feel chained.

This is the last time I will entertain a paper with scribbles about you.

This is the last time I take the pin out.

I’m tired, but I wish you well.

Okay, the pin is back in.

Take a deep breath.

Hold it in.

Let it out.

And again, I let you go.