Between Bruises & Blooms

There was never
another me.

There shouldn't be.

That is not
how people work.

You can love
someone after me.

You can build
another life.

You can learn
another woman's laugh,

memorize
another body,

make promises
inside rooms
I will never enter.

And none
of that
erases me.

Just like
whoever comes
after you
will never become
another you.

We are not
replacement parts.

Love does not
manufacture duplicates.

I existed
in your life
once.

Completely.

Messily.

Tenderly.

Terribly.

And for a while
you looked at me
like there was
no second version
waiting somewhere
in the world.

Maybe you were right.

There was never
another me.

There never
needed to be.

I was not
valuable
because you
couldn't replace me.

I was valuable
because I was
never something
that required
replacement
at all.