To all my ex's,
I never really wanted to do it.
See, leaving is just my defense mechanism.
Fight or flight.
Babe, I'd never fight.
It's just... I saw the way you stirred your coffee this morning, ran a frustrated hand through your hair.
The sigh hanging from your lips in the absence of my kiss, the hesitation skittling about your actions-- like some new trick you've picked up.
Instead I leave, book a one way flight to Tokyo because some selfish, sad part of me that was torn and forged from my history,
is scared that you've thought of it first.
