Grief called last night and it did not go straight into my voicemail.
I took up a shovel and dug our repressed memories.
Reopened old wounds until I hit the bone.
But I am healing.
And they tell me healing is quiet and mostly ugly.
I was taught everything comes with an expiration date.
So I have to believe I can find a window to my soul too.
I have to learn how to orchestrate my heartbeat.
I have to learn to love my scars because they are what remain of a bygone love.