Today marks 5 months. 5 months of no beautimiles. 5 months of no silly jokes or made up words. 5 months of all the clocks not working in the bookshop. As my heart breaks wide open, once again, I know somehow that I will survive. (And not only because that songs says so.) I come from strong stuff. My paternal ancestors survived the Trail of Tears. My maternal grandfather survived being kept a prisoner of war in Northern Africa during World War II. He was so thirsty he wanted to cut off his own arm to have access to liquid. My mom survived malaria 3 times. And compared to all that, my little thing seems trivial. While I know I will survive, it does not tame this insatiable longing. Nor fill the empty space.
Friday, May 13, 2011
I Will Survive
Today marks 5 months. 5 months of no beautimiles. 5 months of no silly jokes or made up words. 5 months of all the clocks not working in the bookshop. As my heart breaks wide open, once again, I know somehow that I will survive. (And not only because that songs says so.) I come from strong stuff. My paternal ancestors survived the Trail of Tears. My maternal grandfather survived being kept a prisoner of war in Northern Africa during World War II. He was so thirsty he wanted to cut off his own arm to have access to liquid. My mom survived malaria 3 times. And compared to all that, my little thing seems trivial. While I know I will survive, it does not tame this insatiable longing. Nor fill the empty space.
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