I have to let go. It's easy to say. It trips off the tongue, doesn't it? I make an effort to think it in French, since French is my emotional language. Laisse-le partir, I whisper to myself, and I wonder when I will stop feeling empty.
Words have a way of filling me up. I write them down to comfort myself. I have a list of favorites I enjoy reeling off, for myself or when insecure.
But now they, too, are no longer mine. Each word I say echoes inside me and FLASH! I see his face, I see him with his new girl, I feel rather than see blistering misery churn inside me, replacing the dead matter floating around in me. I want to reclaim words and rid them of their meaning.
How can I let go of him without losing my memories?
I want to move on as fast as I can. Any amount of mourning, of course, might be necessary. But right now, I see his name inside words, and cannot share them with him.
LA ROBE EN LIN DANS LES BLÉS
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