at night, I dig holes in the backyard.

I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I think I’d like to bury you. Oh, don’t worry, [redacted], it won’t hurt a bit. It’s just that I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I really think it would be best for both of us. I’m not forgiving or forgetting, I just don’t have room for you anymore.

And, anyway, you’re starting to wilt. You’re all skin and no bone. I could fold you up like an air mattress with a gash in its side and toss you in the garbage. But you deserve more compassion than that, I know.

Really, [redacted], I’ve never been mad, just disappointed. I had so much hope. You fed it for months on end, then snapped its neck and asked me not to cry.

I woke up one day, you were gone, and I realized I had nothing left. Just the can of worms you opened up inside me and left me to tend to.

I don’t even remember much of what happened. My memory is so shoddy now.

I guess if I can’t remember, it must not matter. But, somehow, you’re still here.

Sometimes you come to me in my dreams, crying and begging for my forgiveness. Not because you understand, but because you think I reflect poorly on you. We’re sitting close together, but you won’t look at me. You put your hand on my knee and tell me how I’ve ruined you.

Other times, you act like an old friend, like nothing ever went wrong. We’re in a parking lot at night and the wind drowns out your voice. My body has folded in on itself with the cold, and you come closer for warmth. You put your hand on my shoulder and tell me how you’ve missed me.

Listen, I’d love to know what you’d say to me if you had the chance.

But I think I’ve realized something. There’s nothing more you can do for me.

Yes, [redacted], I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking, and it’s time I buried you.