You know it when you feel it:
those moments that just leave you standing with your whole being shattered.
With that hollowness of realization yet explosion of emotions warring against your bones.
They leave you with your heart hanging out of your chest, and you have to quickly pick it up and carry it around for the rest of the day until you can just get alone and cry the pain out, cry the hurt out. Cry the confusion and the embarrassment and the anger and the frustration and the self-pity and the self-hate out.
And if you’re like me, you’ll get in your car after work, after holding it together for four hours, and no tears will come.
Because your heart has already started to build scar tissue, to build walls around itself. So in a sense, you’ve moved on.
But oh, later that night you’ll lay in bed next to your puppy who loves you so unconditionally and feel the world falling apart again. And this time, you will cry.
You’ll cry the pain out, and will still feel the hollow ache of it the next morning.
But now the sun has risen on a new day,
and you must move on.
No matter how much time you gave, no matter how much thought you gave, no matter how many words you gave,
you. must. move. on.
Follow the sun into the west, chase it into the night, and rise with it on a new dawn, a new day.
Keep doing this, again, and again, and again–and one day . . .
. . . one day you will be okay.
And you’ll look back on that fateful day and realize how much you’ve grown since then.