I'm not in love, that's why I can write about it.
I'm not in love, that's why it's so easy
To remember the good things about what it used to be
The curve of his back, spine twisted, a winding road in the smooth even brown skin
That I used to run my hands down.
Easing away the pain, or clutching in ecstasy
No hurt anymore, just a smile at the remembrance of his chest against my back in sleep,
The heavy arm that used to be thrown over me, holding close;
The turgid prodding of a morning romp, sleepy, but what a way to wake up.
Sweeping round a dance floor, Fred and Ginger, maybe not, lovely to watch, better to feel so alive
Knowing the steps, with the practice that comes from doing a different type of dance.
Playing with the dog, eating lunch or dinner together. Snuggling in front of the TV
Small things. But big things when compared with the all the things that were wrong.
So many things that were wrong that are no more.
Because we've moved on.
Nothing more to scream about, to make me cry
No anger, lies or hard feelings, a small sadness that it came to that.
Ready to look forward to what's next, finally over the hurdle.
No more hanging on or waiting. Looking forward to something new.
Finally, no more afraid to move on, To hope that out there, love waits again.