It Is Strange Leaving Love

This is a poem I wrote a long time ago. Even though sad, it is still good.


It is strange leaving love,
like a spirit leaving my body,
or a sensation evaporating from my skin.
I will have lost nothing,
but a feeling
and gained myself without pain.
I can move now without censure of myself,
without cursing my thoughts,
for they had wrapped my heart tight with thorns.
The freedom now is good and strange,
less without the freedom of love,
more with the freedom of life.