There are people in this life that we can’t seem to let go of. They are emblazed on the underside of our eyelids, written on our hearts and imprisoned in our minds. How can we release them? Should we even bother?
The truth is, my dear, that letting go is an act of releasing ourselves. It is palms turned up and opened wide after being clenched for too long. It is freedom from misplaced hope followed by a long sigh of relief.
“But I still love him (or her)”, you might say. Fine.
There is room enough in your heart to love an infinite amount of people until the end of time. But.
You can only afford to give your thoughts, time and energy to those who return your love, multiply it, give it wings.
The how
you are an exit wound
the extra shot of tequila
the tangled knot of hair that has to be cut out
you are the cell phone ringing in a hushed theatre
… you are a poem I cannot write
a word I cannot translate
you are an exit wound
a name I cannot bring myself
to say aloud
~Jeanann Verlee, You Are An Exit Wound
People will come and go, and they will leave exit wounds. In order to release them we must learn to heal ourselves. To breathe. To whisper sweet nothings in our own ear and be our own best friend. We must keep the promises we make to ourselves and forgive the ones we break.
Then, we close the door. We stop looking over our shoulder.
We give up hope.
When it comes to lost love, hope is a glass prison we build for ourselves. Our freedom hinges on our ability to silence the ‘well maybes’ and ‘what-ifs’.
Letting go means striking a big, splotchy red line over his name and washing his face from your memory. If that sounds too harsh, build him a bridge of rose-colored dreams and watch him walk right over it without ever looking back.
Stumbling on
I imagine myself waking up
on the other side of the earth,
covered in salt and sweat
and spit.
Bewildered.
Then picking up and stumbling on,
looking for another thing
to lose and leave,
replacing a void
with yet another.
It hurts to feel things so deeply,
but I put my trust
in the promise
of a thousand tomorrows,
each one as uncertain as the next.
Letting go of certainty
Certainty is an illusion that promises happiness, but only delivers apathy and boredom. I understand that you want to know that everything will be okay. You want to believe that he will think of you and call. Or miss you and come back. Or live a sad, empty life for having done neither. At the very least, you hope that someone better will come along and kiss away the discomfort of uncertainty.
But, darling, those things are not for you to know. Yet. Anything can happen. The best future for you is the one that tastes of delicious uncertainty. Hold that feeling of not knowing in your mouth. Savor it. Stop trying to spit it out as if it were poison.
Let it go by e e cummings
The sweetest kind of release
Just let go of it all, love: the need to know, the false hope, the image of him emblazoned on your eyelids. Tape everything to a golden balloon. Then find a beautiful corner of earth where you can release it into a brilliant sky of uncertainty.
