I've got a boomerang shaped heart, it comes around. My mother told me “That’s how you forgive yourself”. Forgiveness is partially forgetting…. and I’m losing the memory of his hands. We are more than the things we do to ourselves.

Now would be the best possible time to start rummaging for dropped coins, forgotten change accumulates. Now would also be the best possible time to cultivate anything cherished neglected. Love is organic, left stagnant, it will soften and rot.

I can’t find north on a map. But there was a time I would have located the star and thanked him for hanging it.  But that’s as far away as the pin point light now fading, but enough to find my way home. Losing direction doesn't mean having nowhere to belong.