cristinadamanti

Loss is loss. Whether you lose someone forever because of death or you lose someone forever because of life; it’s all loss. And because I’ve been intimately close with both kinds of loss, I can confidently say that they both tear out a piece of your heart…just in different ways. In this instance; in the instance of leaving a place I learned how to call home, my heart is breaking in a different way. I’m still packed. Maybe because I’ve been so busy that I can’t seem to find time to unpack (but I can find time to create some random account on a site I’ve never heard of)or maybe it’s because my heart is still in Rockford and I’ve been waiting for it to catch up with me.It’s like this: they instruct me to love these people. Love love love love love…that’s all I heard about. So I learned how to love them. Every last one of those first years became my little babies. The literal loves of my life. Then it’s over. And I pack my things and they pack their things and we move on. And I try to hold every conversation and every late night laugh close to me so it won’t budge in my memory. My knuckles, white from the grip…I bite my lip and try to be brave. Just like I told her, “be brave little one.” I never thought I would be forced to take my own advice. And so now, unpacking my bags becomes an act of bravery not neccessity. For when I unpack my things and place them perfectly in my Egypt, I am forcing myself to let go of the old and prepare for the promise. And that my friend, is a scary thing indeed.