Time: as much as waiting and anticipating it hurts and flows slowly like lava, or hot fudge, it's a crucial component. It's the monster in your closet you have to face. It's the obstacle that seems impossible to leap over. It's the key factor in moving on.
Progressing.
Moving forward.
Leaving the past behind.
And finally, like a bag of beautiful, explosive dynamite or fireworks- it hit me and I felt new.
I'm over it.
I'm over you, three fucking months later.
Three months later, I am out of school.
I have acquired a job, a circle of friends.
Mom's clean, she says.
Little brother is a senior now, seventeen.
And I feel lighter.
It's summertime, I'm healing, and for the first time I can genuinely say I'm doing okay.
