Mothering Myself

I keep walking in on myself wishing you back. I insist on her letting you go, but no matter how many times I repeat myself, it seems I just refuse to listen. Stubborn brat, I know what is best for you. That is not it. A slap across my face. My ring has gashed deep at my cheek. A fine line of blood runs a half drawn tear. She looks at me defiantly and dares me by wishing you back then and there. I walk away.