Image for the poem Letting Go - By Nizana

Letting Go - By Nizana's daughter

“We need, in love, to practice only this: letting each other go. For holding on comes easily; we do not need to learn it.” Rilke  
There was a heaviness in the air of my apartment. My mother was still in treatment. I missed her.  
I was realizing, with some relief, that my lover wasn’t going to leave his wife and family. I knew we were approaching a time of change.  
My windows were open and humid air cooled my apartment. The sounds of commuters returning to their homes filled the room. My lover started to close a window and I said, “Leave it. I need the night air.”  
“Is everything alright?” he asked.  
“Yes. I’m worried about my mother. I haven’t heard from her in several days.”  
“She’s a strong woman. She’ll get through this and come out stronger on the other side,” he said in a tone he must have used when closing deals at work.  
I admired him. He was ambitious and there was a kindness about him. I wished we were closer in age. I could see us being together for a long time if not for our circumstances.  
He was also deceitful. I understood our need for deceit but it seemed out of character for him. He had a wife and two children he adored. I’d recently learned there was another child on the way. He hadn’t mentioned it and I hadn’t’ brought it up since I was his partner in our shared deception.  
“Well,” I said. “I barely kept my mind on work today while looking forward to seeing you this evening.”  
“Same here,” he said. I wondered if that was true as I let my blouse open to him for what I suspected was the last time.  
He looked at me with his kind eyes and I was smitten all over again. Could I leave him? I thought.  
His clothes came off quickly as I flipped the bedroom light off leaving only the lights from the random glow of street lights.    
As we kissed, I rubbed his flaccid cock with the palm of my hand and felt it coming alive. I knelt and kissed him imagining his wife’s lips there too.  
The room was quiet except for the hum of traffic below and soft smacking of my lips over the length of him.  
Later, when I rolled and placed myself over him, I looked across the room to the open window. With my thighs anchored against his muscled legs I raised myself and led him inside with my fingers.  
I imagined my mother watching from the darkness.  What were her thoughts as she watched me lowering slowly to receive him. Did she see my tears?
Written by Nizana
Published | Edited 31st Jan 2023
Author's Note
Based on recent events. My mother taught me to love Rilke's writing.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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