scabbed over

They moved the September 11th Memorial a little to the side of the front doors of the library, sometime during the night.

Sometime during the past two months, my eye stopped twitching. When you heal, do you notice when the scab falls off? I never do. I pick at that stupid thing so it heals twice as slow, and then there is a time when I stop, I forget. It disappears; my real skin is there again and I remember what I look like whole.

I miss how it was right after it happened. We were grieving so hard, and we were also scared, to the point of defining ourselves by it. Now it trails off into slow, silent pondering when the next phase will occur, where we will be, and if we are strong enough to bear it this time.

But we’re never strong enough, not really. I still almost cry when I stub my little toe, even if I know the pain is only momentary, and even if it isn’t, a broken toe isn’t anything at all.

Right in the moment, I think living with pain is worse than dying from it. Then I remember.

← An IndieWeb Webring πŸ•ΈπŸ’ β†’

I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.