The Beauty of the Bad
Yes, it was as bad as you remember.
You feel it in your gut still,
in unexpected moments
when, for a brief moment, it swallows you again.
But you are a different soul now.
Your windows are open,
and foul things flow through and past and out,
dust in the wind, no more.
And then the air is clear
and you see what is more certainly, more vibrantly,
impossible things had you not suffered and survived
and opened your window
that allowed the perfume of lilacs and mock orange
fill your house.
About this poem.
I stumbled on some old files from the time of my divorce this morning. I thought I had deleted all those things from my computer years ago, but there they were. I did not even bother reading them. I am not fond of going down those kinds of rabbit holes.
But for the briefest of moments, it all came back to me. Not just the ugliness of it all, but the years of therapy and all its revelations and the painful journey to a better place. And then it was gone, and I was left to wonder at the life and love I have now. Strangely, in order to get here, I would not change a thing.
You never know where the journey leads. If it is theme I come to again and again, it is because of how grateful I am.