Sacred Undoing

I didn’t heal with a dramatic goodbye.

It was more like

untangling earbuds in the dark

slow, patient, a little swearing.

﹁﹂

Some pain comes tied in bows,

pretty from the outside,

and you don’t notice

It’s choking you until you breathe.

﹁﹂

I started with small things:

stopping mid-sentence

When I felt myself lying

to keep the peace.

﹁﹂

I returned a sweater

that still smelled like his cologne

and my own fear,

a weird perfume, honestly.

﹁﹂

In therapy I said “it wasn’t that bad”

and my throat tightened

like it hated the story.

So I tried again.

﹁﹂

I learned the body keeps receipts.

A flinch is a signature.

A stomach ache is a witness.

﹁﹂

Some nights I sit on the bathroom floor

with the fan humming

and I loosen one knot

a memory,

a sentence,

a belief that love must hurt to be real.

﹁﹂

I don’t pull hard anymore.

I’m gentle on purpose.

Like sacred work needs soft hands.

﹁﹂

I’m not finished.

But the rope is slackening.

And I can finally feel

my own pulse

without fighting it.