When it all falls to the ground, where do we put the debris? The leftover concrete that was once the beginning of a rock-solid foundation? It’s too much to just sweep haphazardly under the rug. So I’m sitting in my car trying not to choke on the smoke, trying to keep my feet on the ground. Trying to reconcile myself to our differences.
I tell myself this is where I’m supposed to be, all covered in ashes and salt. This is always the hardest part. And I’m only just beginning to learn how to move. So forgive me, please, if instead of walking I run. I spent too much time frozen in place, terrified to move and now my legs are aching and screaming for freedom. I would take you with me, if I could. But, I suspect where I’m going is not where you belong.
So, this is where our paths divide. It’s ok to let go of my hand. I’m not angry or bitter and I hope neither are you. So let go. Follow yourself to wherever you want to be.
I can only hope you’ll send me postcards when you get there.