Let her go?

Let her go, you say? How can I let go of myself, I ask. She wasn't just a girl— She was the one who made me fall for the first time, The one who made me feel alive, The one who made me feel at home. How can I let go of her? Move on, you say? How can I move on from someone Who didn’t laugh at my tears, Who cared for me, Who knew how I felt, Who saw me when no one could, Who listened when no one would? So tell me, How do I move on? I always thought poetry was boring— That is, until she spoke so highly of it. I started writing just so we could talk. Now I write Just to be with her from afar. She once said, "Some people are poetry on their own." She was right. And she is The best poem ever written By the hands of the Gods. What I am now Was made by her. So no— I can’t let her go. I can’t move on. Because she lives in me— In my poems, In my soul. She resides, And always will.