Habits

I have this habit of running the thumb on my left hand over my ring finger, only to find it empty. I used to have mild bouts of anxiety whenever I realized the rings were missing. The anxiety is gone now, but my thumb has excellent muscle memory, it does this subconsciously—I wish it didn't.

When I'm good about praying before I go to sleep (which is super infrequent), I still say your name after my parents and my sister. I can't help it, its the natural order of people of which I've asked God to watch over for the past dozen years.

When I am forced to recite my entire legal last name, it still comes out fluidly. Its thirteen fucking characters long, with a hyphen in the middle, but my annunciation doesn't skip a beat. 

I'm intentionally trying to prevent myself from continuing these habits.

However, I have purposely chosen not to break the habit of being your friend, despite the bullshit, heartache, and every reason under the sun in which you don't deserve to know me as a person. But you're fortunate as fuck, cause somehow you managed to snag a bad bitch who was strong enough to deal with all that is "you" (before / during / and especially AFTER). 

All I ever wanted is for you to be as happy and as healthy as you could possibly be, and since thats not with me, I accept that 100 percent. No bitterness. No sadness. No joke.

I only ask that you wish the same for me, for a man who always holds my hand when we both need to jaywalk across the street, who would never have one more drink at happy hour when he already knows I'm at home with dinner waiting, and particularly for a man who can't wait to thank you for letting me go. I ask you wish me the best, for the king I've always deserved, cause I always knew I was a queen.