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When the hurt released me,

– it was overdue

– I wasn’t home

– I was chasing after something that has
long ceased being my treasure but the
familiarity of the craving felt like muscle
memory leading a relentless dance, or
sleepwalking in a house where I knew
which way to go to avoid getting hurt
to the point of waking up and stopping

– I hadn’t arrived but it was the decision
to go that triggered my ascent into
freedom and closing the distance was
necessary but it wasn’t the point

– it happened inside my head

– I could argue that I’d been released way
earlier than this but seasons change
gradually and in the end you call it
spring long after the snow has thawed

– I had written everything there was left
to write about closure and divorcing the
past, and the blank page stares back at
me, lined with silver like the blessing of

– it feels like a host of things happening
all at once: the pleasure of a deep
breath, the anxiety of a new world, the
ghost claws reminding you where they’d
been when they held you, the flesh
asking where to go now that they can
go where they please, the mind trying
to find the right way to say that it is its
own master and things are still the
same only with more light

– it was neither sophisticated nor editorial

– it was told to me in a language that
would have also been understood by
the younger version of me that signed
away her future to a period of hurting
because she hadn’t known any better
and had been led to believe it was how
love worked

– it’s not wrong to say it was beautiful
while it lasted

– it’s not the heartbreak that made me
special; it was the heart

– I feel bigger

– tomorrow I might wonder how I stayed
so small that long, but not today

– the hurt released me when I knew
enough to not miss what was hurting
me and that’s the part that takes the

– anything is possible

Image by photographer Jonas Hafner


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