Love Hangover

Some people are harder to quit than to love

I keep telling myself
I’m over you.

I whisper it like a prayer,
hoping one day my heart will finally believe
what my mouth has been rehearsing.

I make myself the same promise
every single time:

This is the last time
I let you unlock every door
I fought so hard to close.

Then you appear.

And suddenly,
it’s as if someone else takes the wheel
while I sit helpless in the passenger seat,

screaming,

turn around.

But we never do.

In those moments,
everything feels worthy of sacrifice.

My peace.
My sanity.
The promises I made to myself.

Because for one fleeting second,
being close to you
feels like coming home.

Then morning arrives,

and I wake up
with another love hangover.

I gather the broken pieces of my resolve,
stitch them back together,
look myself in the mirror and whisper,

“Never again.”

And for a while,
I believe it.

Until you call.
Until you smile.
Until you need me.

Then suddenly,

I’m cooking for two.

The crazy part
isn’t that you keep coming back.

It’s that every time you do,

I choose you

over the version of myself
who begged me
to finally let go.

So here I am again,

standing in the ruins
of another promise,

wondering how someone
who no longer holds my hand

still has such a firm grip
on my heart.