Letting Go

What’s the hardest part about letting go?

The sun always seems too bright. Time moves slowly. My feet drag through mud and I just can’t find it in me to scrape the remains on the sidewalk. When darkness falls I miss the shadows. I watch myself age in the mirror each day. My socks are too thin. Every song spits memories in my face. Thunderstorms keep me awake at night and I can’t decipher if they’re real anymore. It all feels like a test. Like I’m supposed to catch Aroldis Chapman’s pitch with my bare hands. Like my shattered bones should exceed expectations. Like the ambulance had planned my injury and waited patiently for the crack. I tell them to cover the windows. They mock my dirt-ridden shoes. I cannot find my voice. Is this another test? Darkness comes quickly. Paramedics sing our song in unison. None of this is real. I do not have the strength to let go. This torturous hallucination could not possibly be worse than a reality with endless grief.

— ODH