Saturday, June 02, 2007


"My movements are calculated now, instead of flailing; I move like liquid, like someone who has always known how to get up and walk away. This was not always the case. In the moments, the days, weeks after he left, I was still bed-ridden. Remarkable, I thought at the time, how love and pain leave you in the same place, prostrate and desperate, arching your back to the sky."

"Morning: open your eyes, move. Stretch, check that your limbs are still working. Open your mouth, close it. Inhale. Check that the rainbows haven't fallen off the ceiling. I forced myself, day after day, to get out of bed, walk to the bathroom, the kitchen. To pull a book from the shelf and sit on the couch. To walk outside, to the corner, to get milk. It is easy to compare this to addiction, but it is nothing like addiction. The pain that comes after is not even anything like love. With that easy plague of love you benefit, in some tiny way, a single exhalation or a smile on his face. In this, the slow recovery, there is no benefit, only the stark horror at what you have become and how much you have lost. I try to get lost in books, like before, but it doesn't work the same way."

"Today, a breakthrough. I walk across the street; drop a letter in the mailbox."

-Erica, April 2007

new favorite thing: Kiss My Face Mango Ginger Lip Balm SPF 15

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