I talked with my therapist about my anger. How it’s growing and not shrinking. I want it to shrink. It’s bigger than I can hold.

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I want to wake up and not remember this.

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That’s false. It isn’t that I don’t want to remember, I want to move on, I don’t want it first or second thought, I want it last, least.

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I don’t want him to hold the power to hurt me.

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I thought that wall was built high and deep. Perhaps it’s not high enough.

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You walked around that wall for years. You’d let it be, sometimes. Then you’d get tired of the view and try to scale it. I’d knock you off somehow before you could see over the side. I picture you walking around it, kicking at the edges, digging your toe in the dirt, you were going to get in.

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I wasn’t going to let you.

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Hurt. I hurt too much. I hadn’t trusted him in years. It’s easy to say, easy to know, painful to live. I find myself continually chastising myself for the little shred of hope I hold out and he doesn’t fulfill.

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You hugged me that March of that year that wouldn’t quit. You hugged me tight. You saw the pain and loss. I let you in.

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It felt like a dare. One I was sure I would hurt from. The problem was, I was already hurting too much by then, what would one more pain be? I needed you. I needed someone who would see, sit, listen.

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He kept walking away that year. I told my therapist the story last night. The story that rocked that year. The story that pushed the teetering rock off the cliff wall. How the one time he came towards us that year shocked me. It hurt how surprised I felt when he walked through that door. I should have never felt surprised, but I did, and I knew it was all wrong.

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You came through a door that week. You walked in and I felt relief. You were the answer to the prayer. You lingered, and it felt curious, but not bad. You’d scaled the wall. You were standing at the top that night, looking down into the fortress. I don’t think you saw what you expected. You didn’t walk away. You sat. Prayed. Did what you had done before but with a new view, a fuller view, a view that gave you the advantage to hold something new.

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I want to wake up and only remember you.

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This new life we are building is the one I want to encompass my life. Not my old life. Not my old pain. I want to learn to release it. Thank it for what it taught me and let it go.

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I want to hold you and them with both hands, tight and full.