The Art of Healing, Pt. I

There is a cheapness that clings to your cells once you’ve been disposed of. 

Chosen not.

Left in the dust of a memory. 

You feel yourself becoming part of someone’s past. A part of you is no longer alive; no longer alive in the life of a someone.

I thought I was stronger than this. I’m even confused as to where it’s coming from.

It’s not you; it’s the hurt that lingers in your wake.

It’s not you; it’s this rattling in my chest; broken pieces of a previously functioning organ.

What used to pump warm blood through pink arteries is now splintered and un-whole. My red and white blood cells can’t seem to find their way to necessary extremities; creating a numbness that lingers far longer than I’d like it to.

There is a chill that clings to your cells once you’ve been released. 

You are gone, so why can’t you take the pain with you? 

The first few moments felt like liberation. I had wanted this. I had known from the seat of my soul that I had to be on my own. A surge of pink light coursed from the core of the earth – up, up, up, illuminating every chakra, shooting through third eyes – the moment is here, and I know it is part of your plan. But I graciously welcome the ebb and flow; the roar and rumbling of the Universe.

It’s amazing how our bodies can get us to safety; how adrenaline pushes us through pain. And only when you stop to catch your breath do you start to feel the gaping hole, and look down to see your insides spilling. 

Nothing compares to a first love – and here’s why: When you first fall in love, it is a foreign entity in your flesh; a virus, if you will. You have nothing to compare the feeling to; nothing in your biology is prepared to fight it off. And it is so strong and so unknown and so overwhelming that finally you submit to the sickness, because you are no match for its strength of conviction. Like an addiction, it tugs at your veins, convincing you you need it. 

And you will never know a love like that again.

You will never know a love like that again because now, your body can sense love. Your antibodies are prepped. You have a point of reference.

Now, you are weary of love’s presence. You can sniff it out; see it coming towards you from across the crowded bar. Your instincts are honed, like a Bloodhound catching a scent on buttoned collars and sprigs of facial hair.

And as you feel it coming, your hairs vibrate as they raise to stand on end; your chest tightens; your heart hardens. Because your body knows that love never just means love. It means pain.

It has learned from being burned that hot surfaces scald. An ancient fear response perfected over millions of years of evolution: Protect yourself from the things that may cause harm. 

But now, the worst has happened. You have been forever altered. You have been changed.

The more stress and fatigue is applied to a muscle, the stronger it becomes over time. But the heart is calloused. Days and days of spinning around on one foot. It is tough and hard and dull.

And so I ask my Future New Love not what will you do to me, but what will you take from me? Which part of myself must I sacrifice next? Which limb must I lose to your insatiable appetite? 

I have nothing to offer you. My well has been dried and depleted and I’m only filling it back to sprinkle water down parched lungs.

Because the beast can have everything;

Take everything;

But I’ll be goddamned if I let it take my voice.