Inspired by What Moving On Is Like:
At first, it's hell. It's uncontrollable sobbing for days. It's replaying, rewinding, remembering, and punishing yourself. It's lemons, the end of your rope, and rock bottom, all in one. It's crying on the bus, under the covers, and every time anything reminds you of him. It's regret, bitterness, desperation, and the realization that you have a dark side - the side that makes you swallow your pain whole when nobody else is around. It's loneliness. It's lost kisses. It's mourning for something good lost. And everything just hurts. There's no metaphors or imagery to describe it. It. Just. Hurts.
And then it becomes motivation. You call up your homies that you haven't seen in months. You real talk for hours, and everyone tells you that it will get better. You feel ambitious, and you get moving. You start playing piano, running, reading, praying, applying for jobs, writing, singing, cleaning, listening to music, going out, shopping, eating, watching movies, and doing whatever it is that fills you and your time up. You do it to forget. You do it to prove something. You do it to believe again. And most of the time, you build yourself back up, bit-by-bit, only to have it crash down over and over again.. And then it's back to square one, and missing him at night. But you keep going, because you know that you have to come out of this a better person.
And then after all that, it's back to the loneliness. But it's different this time. You aren't afraid of it. It's still nostalgia, but without the guilt. You spend the day by yourself. You let the quiet come. You give yourself reasons to be happy without having to do anything at all. And even though you can still crack at any moment, at the end of the day, the tears don't come. It's still shaky and fragile. You're not any less breakable. It's not healed, not quite yet. But there's been healing done, and you know you've come far from the dark. And then...
I'll let you know what happens next when I get there.