I dream I have set up a romantic scene. Flowers, gifts, music, soft lights, sensuous foods. Yet the purpose is to soften the truth – that I will soon betray your trust, reject your desire, demand my freedom.
Somehow, you already knew. You tell me we should gather all the things we’ve kept, the mementos and the poems and the photos of our times together – and burn them.
No! I cry.
Wait, you say, calmly. Trusting. Knowing that only by letting go will we ever be able to move into the future.
I wake suddenly, crying aloud, again. Lay awake at 3am. Crying. Realizing how I’ve been holding on, still.
How long will my dreams haunt me so? As long as they need.
How long will this season of grief continue to wash over me? Until the sadness has done its hard, painful task, cleansing the dark recesses of my soul.
Then the flood waters will recede. Dry ground returning. Daylight and sun shine and warm breezes.
But until then, I will keep watch. And I will welcome the bitter cup, which brings both pain and healing.