Moving On is Something You Do Alone

I lay the books out in a single file line in the bottom of the box. My emotions are somewhere between the verge of tears and nonexistence. The music that’s swirling around the room is reaching my ears and saturating my thoughts.

I know I haven’t been the best… of sons.

I know I’m doing the right thing. I know I’m going to the right place. Maybe I will finally be in a good place. Emotionally. Personally. Professionally. Perhaps I can finally find that ever elusive friend, Peace.

I’ve been traveling in the desert of my mind, and I haven’t found a drop… of life.

The curtains are open and the fan is on, but it’s a little hot in this room. I wipe the sweat from my brow, and mark the box, “Books: M-P”. I bury my feelings with the books I bury in the box.

I’m just being dramatic. In fact, I’m only at it again, as an addict with a pen…

I found that little porcelain cat on my shelf that they gave me for my birthday two years ago. It was sitting next to that note that read, “Will you be my bridesmaid?”

We haven’t talked in quite some time…

This is personal. This is hitting me. I’m finding it harder to concentrate when all I can think about is what I’m leaving. I know I’m doing the right thing. I’ve said that already. I know it will be good. But I can’t help feeling like it’s a lot harder than I expected when I started this journey.

…and pretend

Of course I’ll be here again…

This is personal. I’m repeating myself. I need to get my car fixed.

No, stop distracting yourself. Stop trying to forget about your feelings by thinking about your to-do list. That’ll get done. You know you’ll get it done.
Be here now, and think about where you are. Think about what you’re leaving.

But I try my best

And all that I can to

Hold tightly to what’s left in my

Hand…

I sit down on the bed a moment, lightheaded. My head has been hurting for an hour or so now. Maybe I should drink something. I take a swig from my bottle; it helps. My eyes refocus.

See you tomorrow

But it’s the end of today

End of my ways

As a walking denial…

I’m alone in this house, packing these boxes up alone. I’m alone. Forever alone. A smile touches my lips at the thought of that cliche. It’ll get better. I’ll get better. I’m just moving.

I’m just moving on.

That’s something I do alone.

My case was filed as a crazy

Suicidal head case

But you specialize in dying

You hear me screaming “Father,”

And I’m lying here just crying

So wash me with your water.

I pick up some more books and begin the next box.

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