It’s time to let me go

 

I don’t want to be a space holder,

a shadow in the corner of your story.

I am a queen,

a goddess draped in firelight,

and I deserve to be seen as such.

You have done nothing wrong.

The years we’ve shared—

five long seasons of nature and travel,

of rivers and roads,

of skies unfolding above us—

I hold them tenderly,

pressed between the pages of my heart.

I hope you carry my love

like I carry yours.

But it’s time to let me go.

I cannot be a sugar mama,

a placeholder,

a comfort when no one else is near.

I am seeking something lasting,

a lifetime woven in passion and compassion,

a love that wants me

as much as I want it.

I don’t have as much time as you—

a few good years left,

and I will not spend them

in the waiting room of someone else’s life.

It hurts my heart,

tears out my gut,

just to say these words:

But it’s time to let me go.

Being poly has been a gift,

and yet a wound—

for my desire burns too bright for you,

too much for your comfort.

You push me away daily,

while she is cradled

in your arms through the night.

You hold her close,

while I am sent from the room

to sleep alone.

You love her with fire,

numerous times each day.

With me, a flicker once a week—

and even then,

it feels like duty,

not desire.

Still, I do not deny your love.

I know it is there,

quiet, enduring,

a corner of your heart

with my name carved in it.

But passion is absent,

and without it,

I wither.

I love you,

and I always will.

But what I seek is precise,

and it will take me time to find.

I need the space to search,

to claim the devotion

that matches the fire within me.

So let me go,

with gratitude for what we’ve shared,

with respect for what we’ve built,

with sorrow for what we could not hold.

Let me go,

because I am a queen,

a goddess,

and I cannot stay

in the silence of being unseen.