And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh (1856), Book VII.
I hear messages like, "Love sometimes, is not enough"
And I scream inside.... but Love is all I know how to do....... letting go is a whole other story........ I don't know how to do that.
"the grieving can go on for years" is another one...... and I say, "I can't do this for years, it's TOO F-ING PAINFUL"
"you'll get through it" they say. and I say......."I don't want to f-ing get through it, I want my life the way I imagine it" and I hear my inner two year old shamefully making an absolute fool of herself.
The stories in my head have to be mine though, so I say, "everything is unfolding perfectly". And then I believe it somewhere down under the rubble of this wound. This blasted open f-ing wound in my chest. This weeping, oozing, bloody thing that keeps re-opening.