Still going through the motions of dealing in matters of wasted potential. None of it gets easier the next time around. It’s a new person saying, “I feel it too. This could be something, but I don’t want it.” For whatever reason, one I may never be sure of. I can never hold it against them. Doing the right thing for yourself will leave the heart of another broken at times.
The child in me cries out, beating on the body grown around her. It’s a constant shriek of, “Why?!” A begging for something more. Even in the acceptance of endings, she wants the end to stick around a little while longer.
This isn’t really acceptance though, is it? It’s admitting the end is needed, not wanted. It’s clinging tightly enough to what’s dead to be okay with lingering in the ashes. Studying the bones and fractures for more of it. Knowing the dead will never rise, but unable to find comfort in the living.
Not a poem. Just needed a place to post what I write anonymously to hear thoughts about it from others.