She called the name a thousand times over, listening as it echoed. A name as hollow as a rugged canyon. Yet no answers returned, of why they left, of why the heartbreak flourished and the memories remained. But she must ache, and she must feel so that the sun will rise again.

I keep hoping for you. Hoping you will walk back through the door. But the dishes are piled up and the fridge is empty, and the rain comes every midafternoon. I am closing my eyes more often than not, hoping that the healing will come soon.

She is out there, somewhere in the wild, looking for herself.

You can lose, without ever really having.

By now, she is fluent in ache. How it spills into her veins and sits in her bones. If this ruin is all she has known, where will she find strength?

You can sew the scars, with stitches made from forgiveness. You can sprout new life, grow into your skin, and take back the fearlessness.

The world defines “disaster” in so many ways, but lately “disaster” is all my thoughts of you.

She likes the idea of new skin and hair regrowing, of new clothes and different memories and belongings. She likes that she can let go of the past and all the hurt and grow into someone new.

She built cities in her own mind, filled them with love and interest, and drove away the shadows. She hopes these cities will spill over into her world.

She began those first few months crying on her bedroom floor. Boxes left unpacked, unsure of this new life she was meant to lead. But then, one day, she washed her sheets and showered in the morning; she drew back the drapes and unpacked all her boxes. She found a coffee shop down the road and cooked dinner at home. She went on dates and bought fresh roses. And even if there are still days of gloom, she knows for every bad day, there is a good day, certain to bloom.

A car horn sounds in the distance, and she steps away from the windowsill, the rain comes in steady, clouds had brewed all afternoon. The sky was as dark and unforgiving as she felt. But somewhere in between her tears, she saw the raindrops spelling out a silver horizon, and she knew all the pain would eventually disperse and the skies would brighten.

It is not always about the heart breaking. It’s the uncertainty afterward. How unsure you become, about the way you look, how you dress, who you are. If they couldn’t stay, then why would anyone else? But I am sure of you, sure you will grow again, grow new, grow more memories that you love and breathe through. You will be as beautiful as I believe you to be. Take your time, but do take the first step.

You will dream