What happens when 'enough' time has passed? When people stop talking about the person you miss so much? The person you think about all the time.
What happens when it is apparently long enough for you to start moving on with your life?
And how does one define moving on?
Does waking up everyday, exercising, cooking, fermenting, making cheeses, growing a lot of one's food, taking care of oneself and one's dog, working full time and doing it reasonably well...does all that count as moving on? Does that not count as things that a person is doing to stay sane? Because somewhere one does love oneself, how much ever other thoughts creep in....
But is it also not a part of one's life to feel that constant undercurrent of sadness? Of smiling and laughing at inane jokes and turning around to share them with the man...of picking up the phone to share a momentous work achievement, when the brain is telling you that there is no one at the other end of the line.
So here is a short poem on the new lines that have been mapped by my brain, body and face
Blotchy face from crying and laughter lines
Exhaustion and grief and almost dreamless nights
Calves that creak from mindless walking
And eyes that feel spent from all the tears
A life one loves
With Kimble keeping her sane
With mornings skies and views
That one inhales
Some of it making sense most days
And some threatening to take one under
on others
The rambling of one's mind
As always the noise
That stays
Morning views like this help me breathe
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