" I was holding on
to hurricane nights
and lit candles
and my acoustic guitar
resting in your hands.
I was holding on
to the sound of
your voice saying my name
and the peace I felt
with your arms
around me.
I was holding on
to documentaries in bed
and your beautiful eyes
closed as you sang
Rocket Man and all
the songs we never finished.
I was holding on
to our first text and
last phone call and
the plane ticket you
offered but never sent.
I was holding on
to our first Christmas
together
and the last few Christmas Eves
apart
and I've been thinking
we should be together.
we should be kissing
even if there
isn't any mistletoe
because if I have you
there' no reason to celebrate and
fuck, your lips were mine.
They were always supposed
to be mine.
I was holding on
to hope and banana pancakes
on Sundays.
I was holding on
to Main Street and
sunsets in Jersey.
I was holding on
to two streets
that separated us and
blizzards that couldn't
keep us apart.
I was holding on
to you.
I was holding on
to us.
And it was killing me. "

― Christina Hart , Letting Go Is an Acquired Taste