The Promise of Tomorrow

The healing process of a breakup is a c ycle, or so they say. But a cycle is like a clock, a smooth transition, tick-tocking the pain away, lessening with each second. But that’s simply not how it is. It’s more like heading down a steep staircase. You raise your foot and then there’s tension, so much resistance against the gravity as your foot pulls away from the step. Your foot slides through the air and poises, poises, poises and waits. Your weight shifts from the back foot to the front, and then you’re teeter teeter teeter totter falling, and then jar jar crunching jarring smack as your foot meets the next, and a general disorienting feeling thickens in the air.

As the back foot slowly comes forward to meet the front, there’s an odd, gangly twist at the knee, and you swing your leg around, your heel lifting first and then the ball of your foot, and an ungainly, awkward settling, readjusting, shifting of your weight, trying to find your footing. Only to do it all again as you try to move on to the next step.

Recently, it’s been getting easier. I’m not sure if it means I’m moving on, or if I’ve successfully distracted myself enough from my thoughts. I’ve kept myself busy, working, meeting friends, and trying to blanch the pain away by going on a few dates. That’s not to say I’ve been sleeping around, as I haven’t, but meeting other guys somehow seems to equalize the longing, to numb the absence of Voldemort by highlighting some of his deficiencies, or at least opening me up to the idea of someone else, even if it isn’t opening like a door, but more like with a hammer and chisel used to open a clam.

Maybe it’s because of the way I’ve kept myself occupied, but I’m functioning more now. I’m able to proceed in a way that feels natural, and my thoughts are less and less pulled in the direction of Voldemort. That’s not to say I don’t think of him at all; anyone who’s gone through a break-up realizes that we are always haunted by our memories and ideas of what could have been. But as time passes, the ghosts’ chains rattle more quietly until we are accustomed to the sound, the way someone who moves next to a train track adjusts to the sounds of passing locomotives.

I don’t know when or how it happened, but my faith in myself is gradually being restored. My confidence is gradually increasing. I know I’m going to be okay.

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