I wrote what follows after my first truly broken heart had started to find healing in loving myself:
I can not believe how fast my love for you died:
How fast a blossoming tree crashed to the forest floor!
...but I guess it was not fast.
It was being eaten away slowly from the inside...
And no, it was not the woodcutter's ax that killed the tree.
Do not blame him.
It was my pain...and your unfeeling.
I'm not going to replant that tree.
I'm going to take up roots with a stronger one.
I'm gone. I'm dead. I'm fallen from your love.
And I am not coming back.
I'm moving on to a beautiful love...
One stronger than ours ever was.
Farewell forest floor!
I'm growing tall!
And your fallen timbers will never tear me down.
But roots have grown.
And sprouts...
They grow back.
It is my choice. My choice.
Forgiving and unfeeling do not mix well....
These timbers have rotted right next to me.
And I choose now to look around?
To look back...
Is pain a relief?
Or is forgiving a poison?
Fallen timbers echo their crash.
Fallen timbers left their seedlings to bloom.
So, I'm coming back.
I'm creating a beautiful love...
One stronger than ours ever was.
Farewell forest floor!
I'm growing tall,
And the past's fallen timbers will never tear me down.
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