Believe, Please

When the wind whispers to you that he left,

believe it, please.

Do not run into the night asking questions of the moon because it will
not answer.

You will only feel more of

the emptiness he created in you.

When the tea kettle screams that you are safer alone,
believe it, please.
Do not reach for the padlock
—leave it be—
if he left you then he does not deserve to come back.
He spends his second chances like kisses,
and you know this.

When the glasses grow purple in the kitchen sun,
and tell you not to fear age
—it only makes you more beautiful—
believe them, please.
Do not make mirrors out of men’s faces.
You are enough.

But when the Cosmopolitan magazines above your toilet
salt the fresh wounds made by his departure,
and convince you that you don’t deserve this loneliness,
do not believe them,
please.

Men have always been taught to fill what is not there
—silence, shoes, space, time—
that when they see you
—     y     o     u     —
who already has everything she needs,
they do not know their place.

And so they flee,
terrified of their own irrelevance.
Please,
never ever mistake this for your own.