almost 24 hours
I can make it to 24
push for 48
leave it alone
one more day
I couldn’t bear a moment longer than 42
it was almost 48 . . .
start over again
just go for 24 hours
think of it like a long trek
like the Iditarod
don’t think of the 1150 miles
don’t think of the brutal terrain
the unforgiving elements
just try to get to one more sunset
but . . .
the race has a finish line
the pride of accomplishment
my goal is nothingness
an unbidden agreement with loss and void
humiliation morphs into a less hideous memory
but rejection . . .
I have nothing tangible
nothing to show for it
I ache for something to hold on to
to look at
proof it really was
it’s best that no object exists
else it would become worn with constant remembrance
it would become a talisman
it would become something it never was
it would keep me hopelessly tethered
another grueling 24 hours have passed
push for 48
something occurs . . .
why isn’t the stabbing pain as sharp?
why doesn’t the hailstorm of moments carry the same sting?
is this healing?
is this growth?
is this resignation?
or is this recognition that it never really was as important as I allowed that other me to believe . . .