Today I arrived at my place and felt like it was home again,
without having your ghost peeking at me from every corner.
I looked at the places you used to sit and eat your dinner with me,
without feeling like my heart was ripped out.
I looked at the bed where you used to sleep beside me,
without crying like a little girl who lost her precious doll.
I touched the things you gave me,
without feeling lost.
I thought it would be more difficult letting you go,
although it took longer than usual.
I thought that this pain would never end,
although it actually did.
I thought I would never smile again,
although I’ve been smiling the last couple of weeks.
Today I washed the clothes you left behind,
it doesn’t longer matter if they smell like you or not.
Some days ago I used the dress you bought me,
it doesn’t longer remind me of you and what we had.
Today I saw my favourite picture that I took of you,
it doesn’t longer show me a fantastic good-looking man.
I went from strong to the weakest I’ve ever been.
You pulled me back to my childhood depression,
where I thought I would never go again.
Today I went from weak to the strongest that I’ve probably ever been.
Thank you for opening my eyes to what life really is about.
It sure wasn’t about you.
I turn my head in the other direction,
because after all, you were just a boy,
and not the man I thought you were.
Home, home from Paris.