How do we wash away the sticky anger of others? When I’m yelled at, something clings to the bone and drips through the flesh. Listening to soothing music helps, and maybe exercise. But it remains until time covers it with something else.
There’s a layer of dust and years over what happened in high school. Fights I can’t even remember. Insults covered by dust and dirt and the thousands of pounds of trash I’ve created going through this life. All those disposable coffee cups, ground beneath me.
I visited Rome and, in the cellar of a restaurant, was shown part of an old roman road. Things piled up until the Roman streets were buried under 10 feet of time. There are chipped vases and barren house foundations somewhere down there. There are things that were once whole but are unlikely to be fixed.
But sometimes broken things heal themselves. The way the heart breaks, but slowly fills in the cracks with memories of the past. I think of my exes and that gratitude spills out. As a little child, the best apples were like that: So filled with sweetness that the streaks on my face could be tears as much as juice.
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