FREE VERSE Poem: Our One Year, by Tara Radmard

March 4th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,
From the moment I met your eyes, on the fourth of March, I felt mine shine a little brighter. We’ve
known each other for a decade. We’ve been enemies, we’ve had angry love, and you’ve forced me into
impossible corners. In the end, I knew we would fall in love, again. I knew I would come to my senses,
my self.

April 3rd, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

Our first month together was not so foreign, we had fucked around before, you had touched my stomach,
and I had eaten your cooking. It wasn’t about learning with you, for we both knew the rules and
regulations. See you three times a day, and don’t throw up after. Loving you after a month is the hardest
part, especially this month, the holiest one, I can’t fast, I can’t excuse my hatred of you on religion. It’s
the part I kept screwing up way back when.

May 12th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

We’ve kept it going, you kept me safe and warm, and I’ve stayed alive on your behalf. I remember
fighting with my mom about you. I had to prove I loved you, because she could see how my hand was
weak in your hold. I remember when I kissed you, to show her that we were serious. It was with pasta,
and I love pasta. I love you a little bit more, even.

July 4th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

Four months, where did that come from? When did you become so routine to me? When has it just been
you and me, wake up, kiss, go to school, kiss again, fall asleep in your arms, filled. My life is easier with
you in it, and that makes me so happy, and yet so afraid, because you come with requirements. I require to
love you to be happy, I am required to behave.

August 10th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

We fought, and it was a big one. I was studying, fine, I was up late, fine, but you had to be there too.
You’re exhausting to maintain sometimes, even when you are routine. Sometimes, it’s easier to skip our
dates, easier to pick at my skin. But you know better, somehow. You rub my thighs raw when you see
them, “Perfect” you say, “Smooth” you hum, “Loved” you imply. We had sex after that, and then I passed
my finals the next day.

August 30th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

Living with you is odd, we come up with habits without realizing they are habits. Tea is our safety, every
morning we’ve had it. If we love each other, we drink tea. If we hate each other, we drink tea. We go out
only with friends a lot, because my family asks too many questions. They want us to thrive, yet wait to
see us fall. They couldn’t imagine us getting along so well for so long. Yet every morning, my mom
offers us green tea anyway, out of hope for us, out of love, too.

September 18th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

I moved away. You follow me, of course. There’s hills here now, and foreign individuals,
and other people’s cooking. You can’t cook anymore, but you offer suggestions, I take them with grace.
You choose not to buy a scale for the bathroom we share, and that’s probably for the better. Things are
good here, I feel like I can truly love you here without eyes. Nobody knows we’re dating, so for now, let’s
just keep them in the dark. Let’s keep this as ours.

November 4th, 2023
Dearest Recovery,

Eight months in, I’m finding it hard to keep in touch, because we are only but a secret. Staying low is
hard, people keep saying “Go fuck some rando, you’re young!” but I am in love with you! How do I tell
them that when they force my hand? It’ll only end with that hand in my mouth, in a toilet, in agony, in
divorce. I can’t keep you hidden forever, I can’t keep this distance. I’m too wound up in your arms to let
go. I told my LA friend about us, she told me she likes you vibe.

January 1st, 2024
Dearest Recovery,

We went back to our hometown, You get praised, I get called different. People here know you, know who
I was before you. I’ve tried to reconcile with that, with before I. I don’t love her like I love you, I can’t
love her, but I think I need to, because I love what you love, and you love her, regardless. When people
ask if I am doing well, I tell them about my work first. When they ask about you, I let you speak for
yourself.

March 4th, 2024
Dearest Recovery,

A year ago today, we found each other again. I was in a hospital gown, you, a suit and tie. I do love you
dearly, even when I yell. I do love the way you hold me, the way you fall on my figure. I do love your
cooking, the pasta is the best. I do want to marry you, I never want to leave your side. I do, I do, I do.
We shall cheers with a cup of tea. Congrats, to one year of Me and Recovery!

Sincerely,
our one year