Pages keep turning.
Every light of a cigarette. Every drop of vodka at the bottom of a glass. Slipping over ice precariously yet careless. Each ticking of a clock. Seconds passing. Everyday is a routine. The same thing. Work. Pay bills. Come home to the empty house haunted by a shattered marriage, the yearning to be surrounded by new walls as strong as it ever was.
And the days go by.
Despite the vices I keep close at hand. Questioning the seemingly aimless road my life seems to be, yet with so many directions I could go. A patchwork gypsy looking around lost. She has too many places to go, so she remains in place. Standing still. Passed by. Overlooked by the moon her heart chases and the scintillating flickers in an indigo backdrop. Like untouched snowflakes upon the earth. Upside down.
Pushing darkness back with the delicacy of fingers flipping paper covered in words. Sometimes a sledgehammer is only effective when rage spirals into a tornado across prairies. But destruction doesn’t always leave you with something that can be fixed. Sometimes the only way to stare down depression is to drench it with the things you love. Scribbling words across a blank page, despite how daunting the void can be. For it is the void that needs to be filled with these thoughts and fragments. Bury it. Suppress it. Patch over it. Until it rips apart again.
Set the skies ablaze.
Drop a burning match to gasoline on the old rickety bridge, so they know you are serious about finding the light at the end of the tunnel. I’ll make my own light. I’ll live for my own dream. You might be gone. You will never rule me again. You will never cheat on me again. You will never hurt me again.
Pages keep turning.
While my road is aimless and winding, there is freedom. Wildflowers grown knee high in the ditches. Back to the carefree, passionate hippie I once was before you. I changed for you, you see, in many more ways than I ever wanted to or wished to admit. I let myself become softer. Quieter. I pushed away the friends you didn’t like only to tolerate the people you hung around; the ones I couldn’t stand. I became more skulls and leather when my soul has always been peace symbols and flowing, floral dresses. I stuffed all my dreams into a tiny shoe box and shoved it away at the top of the closet, for I was letting my world revolve around you.
Never again.
I have explored and discovered much in almost eight months. I can look in the mirror and recognize myself again. A year ago, I would have rather shattered every mirror within this house before ever admitting I let a man drown me in my own shadows and insecurities, before ever admitting I wanted out. Yet I have crawled back into my own skin, found the comfort like a favourite old blanket in myself. I joined a group on Facebook for childfree individuals, and found my people, while becoming more accepting of the fact that I never want children, and learning how to stand up for myself and my own body. These new friends are amazing and while we have never met in person, there is an understanding there that is so hard to find otherwise.
I keep turning the pages.
Deciding what I want in a man and the behaviours I won’t ever tolerate again, having come to know that when push to comes to shove, I am alright on my own and I always have my own back. Yet that being said, my closest friendships have only grown stronger and more diverse. Old friends have come back into the picture while my usual ladies are still around so we can catch other when the safety net is needed. I’ve adapted to living on my own to the point where I can spend weekends home alone comfortably, instead of being out all hours of the night at the bars, lost in a drunken haze beneath neon lights to kill the pain. Now, instead of killing pain, bar nights are about being with my girls and being free-spirited.
My ladies continue to raise me.
Just as I continue to raise myself, come home to myself and fulfill my own life with new friends, new love and a new me. While you remain haunted by the same closed doors, never changing and never acknowledging that you were wrong, I have stepped out beneath a purple-smeared sky, refreshingly astounded once more. I have discovered what it means to have dreams and a glimpse at the future again. A glimpse of me, somewhere down the road.
Pages keep turning.
