Just when I think,
I'm leaving it behind -
all the damage,
the hurt,
the memories -
something reels me back in,
like claws,
serrated,
hooked in my heart
and I remember him
and how being so close
to a rushing torrent
I was dragged down
as the water wore
at my foundation
and here I am still rebuilding.

But I'm rebuilding.
Bit by shattered bit,
I say "fuck you"
to the ragged edges
that prick and stab
at the ends of old wounds,
smoothing them over
that I improve.

Because sometimes,
you leave a bridge slowly,
carefully wearing it down
and burying it in earth
so that while the grave
may mar for a little while
it will fade.

Sometimes you set the bridge on fire,
turn it into an inferno,
because it will scar
and will always scar
so you might as well try and be rid
of everything,
and cackle madly in masochistic glee.