One last letter. One last goodbye.

Dearest,
I have written over fifty letters to you, talking about how keen I was on letting go; how fond I was of finally detaching myself from you, and my previous failed relationship with him. I must've written fifty other letters to God, apologizing to Him for my failed relationship with Him, too.
The thing is, dearest, I was so keen on letting go, but never ready. The past five months, I was--and god knows I still am, in ruins.
It's like you're in me. Like you are a disease. Like I was infected by you.
You grew inside of me like a tumour, and my body was never ready to let you go.
And I spent one hundred fifty days thinking that you were meant to stay inside of me; scared that my body will be in a lingering state of panic, entirely shut down and eventually decay if I were to get you out of me.
But here's the truth, solemn and honest,
If I am to let you go--if I am to live without you in me, the process would go like this:
My body will indeed panic, as it has lived for what had seemed to me like a lifetime with you spreading inside of me like cancer, growing and feeding merely on my love and ache. My body will not be ready.
But I promise you this,
It won't shut down. It will take its time to adapt. No matter how weak, no matter how drowsy, no matter how drained and dreary it will be at first, it will dwell just fine. It will breathe without you.
Eventually, my dear, it will grow stronger. It will survive.
And I. I am still in ruins. But it has opened my eyes to this; that ruin is not a deficiency.
We all spend our lives running away from it, scared of how it might destroy our lives.
But the thing is, ruin is a gift. For everything ruined must build itself back up again.
We must always see ruin for what it is: the root of transformation; the root of change.
And from ruin, everything shall rise again, better, stronger, and taller.
Building a shelter out of ruin; out of the remains of your older self, is a gift.
So, yes, dearest. I am in ruins, and I am getting you out of me. I am changing, and I am finally prepared. 

Tonight is the night

Tonight is the night
I break my ribs open,
shall everything
staining, and straining
and weighing down
my very soul
bloom out of me
in a sequence of explosions.

Tonight is the night
I break my ribs open
to let you know that
in spite of everything,
darling,
I still believe in the root of you.
In spite of the haziness of
both you, and I
I have spoken of you
only in the name of love.
Inspite of your unsteady heart,
inspite of my stuttering kneecaps
and all my anxiety attacks
and my clumsy body
and my trembling hands
I love you.

Tonight is the night
I break my ribs open
to tell you that
you
are everything that is
staining and straining
and weighing down
my very soul,
shall you
bloom out of me
and shall you
cut the roots of you in me
for good
because you,
my darling,
are too gigantic an explosion
that I cannot
forever
hold closely to my heart.