Sometimes, usually, once.

Sometimes, you were kind. But usually not.

Sometimes, your words were bandages. Usually they caused the need for them.

Sometimes, you held me while I cried. Sometimes you weren't even the reason. But usually you were.

Sometimes, laughing with you felt good. Usually it was a lie to keep myself safe.

Sometimes, I told you what I really thought. Usually I choked on the words.

Sometimes, I didn't want to sleep with you. Usually, you didn't care.

Sometimes, I was afraid of you. Sometimes I was sure you would hit me. You didn't. Someday, I'm know you would've.

But once, I decided I wouldn't wait for it anymore.

Once, my bravery was greater than my fear of you.

Once, I grew a backbone. Once, I dug up some courage. Once, I told you we were done. Once, twice, ten times I told you. I told you until tears froze on my face and my feet went numb, but that once, I left you in that parking lot.

And that once, you told me: "Leaving me won't fix whatever your problems are". And for once, you were right. It didn't fix them all. But:

Sometimes, I don't think about you.

Sometimes, I'm not afraid anymore.

Sometimes, I don't get nauseous when I see you. (But usually I do.)

Sometimes, I think people believe me about you. (But usually I don't.)

Sometimes, I am still not okay.

But sometimes, I am. And it only happens when you're not here.