On Moving On…

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I don’t remember much of last winter. I was too buried in grief colder than any squall. The sharp bite of bitter wind was a welcome distraction from the sickness of my heart.

I put all the things he gave me in the back of my closet, not brave enough to throw them in the trash but not bold enough to keep them around either. Like all bad memories, I hoped they would just fade away.

I found things enough to keep me busy during the days, but the nights were filled with inescapable loops of all the things I could have done better. Of all the things I might have done wrong.

I don’t remember the first day after January 7th that I didn’t see his face every time I closed my eyes, but it must have come. Yes, it must have. Because the sick sinking feeling in my chest now feels like a faded picture.

I grasped for anything that might save me. Desperately, I entered entropy and let the world devour me with new experiences. And yet only within myself did I finally find healing.

For a late blooming flower, I found that each bruise he gave me wilted my tender petals. But those scars will grow a stronger bud come spring. Every beautiful rose wonts to be plucked. And every summer they bloom again.

Moving on is all about compartmentalizing. The pain never goes away. You just box it up and bury it somewhere in your mind and try to think of better things to come.

Wishing stops working after a while, when you realize that people don’t work like shooting stars. They don’t fall on command, and they have pasts that they can never outrun.

I walked into something karmic, and fuck that’s unfortunate, because you were the start of my journey, and I was only a distraction from yours.

Sometimes I remember the way he rolled his eyes while I drove us home one December night, and in that moment I knew there was no saving this. And it took all my strength of will not to burst into tears as we ate our blue cheese burgers while we tried to think of something, anything to talk about.


Here’s some prose from last winter, about my broken heart and learning to move on after that.

Bad things happen in life, but we shouldn’t view those as negatives. We learn much more from pain than we do from success. And sometimes a broken heart is just what we need in order to transform our lives into everything we’ve ever dreamed of. So thank those who have taught you the tough lessons, and pray that they someday find the healing they need as well. Forgive them, and find peace.

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Take care, and don’t forget to take your medications!

Kat 

 

I am

  


I Am, A Poem

I am a jazz heart, slow rainy rhythms and black silk stockings.

I am late night rendezvous, the girl you never get to know completely.

I am the sound of heels on cobbled streets, the flutter of fear before a first kiss.

I am steady logic, cold heart, warm hands; gentle eyes and big plans.

I am the bite of red wine.

I am the shadow thoughts. Insidious kindness.

I am dark ocean waves that carry the moon’s reflection no closer to shore.

I am purple orchids, pale lips, green eyes.

I am dark blue.

I am a winding line that snakes around the straight path.

I am cats claws hidden beneath soft paws.

I am melancholy.

I am the warm glow of a street light on empty city streets.

I am the skyline, peaceful until you get too close and begin to see all my cracks and crimes.

I am the scratch of a violin bow in the echoes of very old music halls that carry the ghosts of luxury within their walls.

I am watery and willowy, prismatic like the many edges of a diamond with too many sides.

I am dimly lit corridors that lead to intoxicating pleasures.

I am silent stares from across the room.

I am foundation; strong on my own, but incomplete.

I am quiet power.

I am.

Who are you?