The pinches that come with divorce have left bruises.
And the punches, well, I haven’t learned to roll with them yet.
Though I am no longer surprised by them.

The fallout remains rubble.
The rebuilding, slow, arduous.
But it ::is:: rebuilding.
And rebuilding is the opposite of tearing down.

I glance backward into time,
And allow the image of that girl that I was to assault my eyes once more,
To remind myself that there is such a thing as a living death.
And to replenish the resolve to never let it happen again.

The bruises on my soul will fade.
I’ll learn to dodge the punches instead of roll with them.

I reach down and lift another stone,
And set it near the other ones selected.
I will name this one, “Resolve”.
It will go in the foundation.


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