The Wound

One day she woke up and realized she wasn’t hurting as much as before. The wound was still there, but the pain duller, more of an ache that intensified at certain times. Like first thing in the morning. She would open her eyes, and the wound was there, dismantling her peace,  trying it’s best to swallow her while she was still sleepy and vulnerable.

She let the wave flood her. Watched the mental dam break.

Then got up and made a coffee.

The same thing would happen as she lay down to sleep at night, eyes wide open in the dark, listening to the washing machine rumbling in the other room, waiting for the sleeping aid she took an hour ago to kick in….there it was again. That ache, that caught her off guard in the silence. It waited until she was alone, and vulnerable once more. Until her mind ran in twisted, mental loops.  Overwhelmed with memories.

She rides the wave again.

It is entirely possible the ache will always be there. Perhaps it’s true what they say about heartbreak and scars. Maybe it’ll always hurt just a little. But then again, maybe it won’t.

She knows deep down it won’t hurt forever and here’s why.

The periods in between the waves of sadness are getting longer and longer. She imagines she is on a boat sailing away from the shore where all the memories, love, and sadness are. A burning wreckage is left behind. Each day, she drifts further and further away from the shore. Sometimes a profound urge rises and she considers jumping out of the boat and swimming, against the current, back to the shore. Then from her little boat, she notices the black smoke rising from the mess left behind, and knows she must keep drifting on.

Drifting….drifting…she looks back every now and then at the wreckage, which gets smaller and smaller, and then one day she smiles. She can no longer see the thick black smoke, high as the clouds.

The ashes can rest.

 

 

Photo by Mourad Saadi on Unsplash

 

 

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