A Ceremony at the Edge of the Sea

After a long walk on the beach,
two bottles of white wine,
and a tide that knew my name—
I finally said it aloud:

“You do not deserve me.
Not my presence.
Not my softness.
Not my trust.”

I wasn’t angry.
I was clear.
And clarity, in that moment, was holy.
It rose through me like saltwater and certainty.

He mistook my grace for thirst.
My celibacy for negotiation.
My sacred boundaries as “playing hard to get.”

Sir—
this is not a game.
This is divine policy.

And you,
no longer have clearance.
TSA revoked.

You don’t lose a woman like me.
You fumble her.
Then pretend you meant to drop the ball.

And now you sit there—
with your cologne of inflated self-worth
and undertones of low emotional intelligence,
thinking you’re God’s gift
because you updated LinkedIn
and remembered to trim your beard.

Meanwhile, I was the best
unpaid therapist,
spiritual concierge,
and midnight lighthouse
you’ve ever known.

I prayed for your glow-up.
Held space for your shadows.
And still—
you tried to take more
from someone who had already given
without measure.

Let’s be clear:
I don’t need your friendship.
I don’t even need your closure.

I lit my own ceremony—
sage, sea salt, and Duke Ellington humming softly in the background.
You are officially energetically evicted.

So do me a favor—
the next time you think of me,
and oh, you will—
remember the sound of the ocean the night I left.

That was your last chance
being washed out to sea.

You were someone I once held with reverence—
a friendship stitched with memory,
laughter, counsel,
and too many unspoken what-ifs.

But I’ve since learned:
what isn’t spoken
eventually becomes a wound.
Or worse—
a weapon.

This isn’t bitterness.
This is a ritual of release.
A sacred closing of a chapter
that was never meant to be a lifetime.

I will not stay tied to anyone
who sees my radiance
and responds with avoidance,
or ego,
or silence,
or expectation without reverence.

Let this be your burial—
not in hate,
but in boundaries.

Not in regret,
but in the holiness
of my own becoming.

You were part of the story.
But you will not write another page.

Rest, wherever you are.
But not here.
Not in the space I now keep sacred.
Not in the life I am building with precision, prayer,
and deep, inherited wisdom.

I forgive you.
I release you.
I rise—
without residue,
without regret.

And I bless the woman
who no longer looks back.

And so, as we close this eulogy,
this obituary of a bond no longer breathing,
we release you—
with love,
with light,
with no residue clinging to the hem of my spirit.

I am no longer any man’s satisfaction.
No man’s temporary fantasy.
No man’s midnight therapy.

I am my own satisfaction.
My own sweetness, sanctuary, and salvation.

What once was sacred is now sealed.
Buried not in anger,
but in ceremony.
Mourned not in longing,
but in liberation.

Go in peace.
But know—
I stay in power—

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