On an ideal summer day, we laid on
An ideal plain. The soft cool grass tickled
The back of your arm as the clouds were drawn
Into wild figures by our minds. I mulled
Over that moment on the day you left,
Remembering your warm breath on my neck
As I swept broken glass away, bereft
Of understanding. I was a huge wreck
For weeks after, trying to comprehend
Your mind, as though I could somehow change it.
But now I no longer need to pretend
The past can be undone, now I admit
A true victory, not some token win.
My heart is not broken, it's broken in.