Two: Time Doesn't Really Heal...

I only remember a few details from those two days.  I do remember more now than I did, say, a year ago.  I think as time goes on, my mind allows me to have a new memory.  Call it self-preservation, self-protection... call it what you will.  But I can tell you that time doesn't really heal.  And it's not a band-aid, either.

Time is more like a canyon that gets wider with every passing year.  You know where the hurt is. You NEVER forget that pain, but with time, the distance it takes to go back to that place gets bigger.  Of course, this canyon isn't empty.  I don't look down in it and see the glorious beauty of the Grand Canyon, with the Colorado River rushing through the layered red rock.  Instead, this canyon is black; pitch black, an abyss.  It is filled with guilt, resentment, anger, confusion, broken-ness, broken dreams. Yes.  I still have all those feelings.  They have not gone away.  They are forever a part of me... a lingering sadness that cannot be seen on the outside.

So I sit at the edge of this canyon, with my feet dangling into the darkness.  Part of me in the light, part of me in the dark.

Because I am afraid if I let go of the darkness, I will let go of her.