When I Think of You

by Myah Ariel

For dreamers and grievers . . . and people who’ve been made strong by leading heavy lives.

That’s what it’s like in the after—living a whole life without the man you’re never too far away from thinking of.

How to navigate the disturbing feeling that I’ve been in hibernation for seven years, and now that he’s back, I’m awake to new possibilities. Or how to reconcile the fact that walking away from him all those years ago still hurts. That what he did to push me away hurts even more.

some doors lock when they close.”

It feels like a lie. Like saying I had a heartbeat once.

And even after all those cuts and bruises, I’m still falling, wondering if maybe this time we can land together.

There’s something so desolate about the notion of fully intertwining your life with someone else’s only to one day find out he’s moved on to the next.

Don’t confuse history with mere memories of the way things made you feel.

“There’s this funny thing about the past,” she says. “It’s all about perspective.”

But I’m beginning to see that sometimes the strongest people became that way simply by leading heavy lives.

But hearing his explanation makes everything click, like we’ve just slid the last piece of a puzzle into place and can finally see the full picture. And even though it isn’t pretty, what matters most is that we’re both standing here looking at it together with the kind of clarity that maybe only time allows.

“You know my feelings for him are like glitter. You think you’ve swept it all up, but when you look in the mirror it’s in your hair and all over your face.”