Go

You know what your problem is, the guy in the movie asks. You cling to the past.

 

Interesting timing. It's not hard to make such a diagnosis of someone else. It's even easier to tell someone not to do it or to stop doing it. But have you tried to actually do it? Let me know how it's going, will you?

I only know one sure fire, tried and true method for getting that done. Burn it down. Kill it. Turn your tender feelings into rage and your love into hate. It always works. Allow yourself to feel betrayed, used, rejected, fucked over in some way. The particulars are irrelevant - just be wronged. Swallow the pill. What bubbles up inside is so caustic that it dissolves what would otherwise make you pine. Now bury it. Paint over it. Seal it over. 

Then you spit on the ground, get in your car, and drive away. You don't even think about looking back in the mirror. 

That's not really the story with this though. I rejected that method. I want what there was to remain.

Get over it. Move on. Let go. Release her. Heal and move forward whenever you are ready. You can say it harsh and blunt or empathic and sweet, but none of these have been the magic words that actually make it happen. 

I've tried to do so in ceremonies and by ordeal. I've hibernated and served time. Indulged and abstained. Moved frenetically and sat still. I've written about you and to you. Someone told me I do so in the hopes that you'll come here and read it. 

Yes. 

You've gotten over it, moved on, let go, released me, healed and moved forward when you were ready to do so. Good. That's the way it should be. You're not coming back to me. That still hurts a little to say. Ridiculous, I guess. But something in me still hopes in spite of reality. 

So we're here at this place. I'm releasing you, again. This time though, formally and in writing. All the windows and doors are thrown open. The bird flies out.