Letter to myself as I was then . . .

I know you are suffering and you can't stop your mind from crashing relentlessly against the shards of your heart. Everything is throbbing and frightening and nothing will ever seem possible again. There is just every hour, maybe, or every moment of sun hiting the walls or your face or just holding her and knowing she is yours and part of you and bigger than any of this turmoil. Whatever he was is lost now, wasn't really there, was a projection of something so desired that you tricked yourself into believing. It was a good dream but not a reliable one. You know that too. It was all about a dream and drifting and wanting something so badly that it came, entirely expected and yet unintentionally conflicted . The fool in the deck. But this is a gateway and you must walk through, stumble if you have to; never believe anyone who says that you must move quickly . . . because the way out isn't fast or easy or done to please anyone but yourself. And there is no going back.