I am releasing words to the summer afternoon.
I honour the process of finally ‘letting go’, having once claimed the words to be abstract and dumb. I thought these words invented by people who had never had to ‘let go’.
Journals stacked, once shared between two people in love.
Severed…abrupt ending. A period, a comma, a pause.
Now.
I cut into the pages,
one at a time, while listening to good music blast from the speakers.
I read each one with no attachment, each one about love.
I archive bits of my heart, celebrating my words…flow…
life-giving water
and then say good-bye.
These are parting words.
These are reconstructed words.
Later, someone will ask me what I did today and I will say that I ate strawberries, walked the dog, listened to music, answered the phone.
Ah, those old letters, full of promise, hope and love – I admire your courage in “letting go” – mine are still in a box under my bed, resisting destruction. Don’t know why I keep them, I never read them…but somehow they confirm memory – I was there, I did and felt this, the hand that held the pen that wrote these words belonged to another human who shared a slice of my life…
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