When does it stop hurting? I ask myself that a lot and maybe it never really stops completely. I think we all have something that hurts, no matter how much time has passed, it’s a fresh wound, still tender and gaping open with reminders of that time that seems like yesterday or right now. The more we try not to think about it, the more it bleeds, takes us to our knees, and here I am, doubled over. You learn a lot from that bathroom floor of despair. You learn a lot from that fetal position sob. You learn a lot from all the pieces of your own heart and the one part that didn’t break, but stayed intact so you could feel the heaviness of carrying it. Maybe we learn the most from what we carry when putting it down is not an option. Maybe we’re not supposed to hold it at all, and it’s only me, walking around with this heavy heart, packed full of all the things I never could let go. So I stand here, holding more than I can carry, and I feel it for the millionth time, because maybe, just maybe…. this is the one time it turns out differently and the ending doesn’t kill me.