When he leaves,
I will cry for 10 minutes and proceed to bottle up all the pain I have yet to feel.
Then,
I will mix it with tequila and pour into shot glasses and pretend I’m at an empty bar and all the drinks are on the house.
While I drink,
There will be a burning sensation in my throat
But they cannot compare the to screams being held inside the closed doors of my chest.

When he leaves,
I will feel my heart shatter and my body become empty, as if someone had poured out all the “me” there was because it had expired.
Yet, I will smile with my crooked, coffee-stained teeth, and search for every piece I’ve planted in others in hopes of an evolution in me.
Why does he deserve to know that he had completely destroyed me ?
The answer is clear, he doesn't.
He will only feel the sting of seeing me shine when I’m recreated.
And he will know he can no longer touch, I am no longer his.

When he leaves,
He will take the all words I have tried to say and write and he will light them on fire.
I will feel the third-degree burns on my lips and hands, as all my words burn.
Yet I will look him in the eye and roast marshmallows over that fire.
I will lick the residue off my burned fingertips and lick my swelling lips in delight.
Delicious.
I will not satisfy his hunger to see me in pain.
Yet I will satisfy my need to see his enragement at his failure.
He will not win any longer.

When he leaves,
I will not crumble.
I will still wake up,
And I will still breathe.

When he leaves,
I will survive.