step one.
if you lose people all the time. if your heart is no longer a home but a bridge of sorts, connecting arrival to departure like airport terminals do; if you’ve grown used to the fading voices, the promises of “call you back laters” that never make it to redemption ― eventually, you will become indifferent as to who comes in, seeking your warmth and attention.
step two.
take a step forward, remove the anger.
until you do so, their absence will sting.
remove the disappointment while you’re at it, too.
it’s the best way to stop caring.
(it’s alright if you still care.
pretend you don’t long enough
and eventually you won’t.)
step three.
sometimes negligent fathers have a way of reiterating themselves in the most predictable of ways. you see him in the taste of black coffee, armstrong’s prophetic voice booming through the speakers, old libraries and african proverbs. add cupfuls of milk to your coffee, replace armstrong with sinatra, and when your mother asks why, tell her that you are tired of wearing pink stained glasses. besides, the world lost its wonder the day you turned thirteen.
step four.
learn to forget. forget names, dates, places, people, memories, scents, hopes, ambitions, dreams. forget the way your sister sounded when she laughed that whole, bellied, totemic laugh of hers that filled the whole room with its awkward eight-year old charm. forget the serene beauty of two am discussions near the fireplace, the taste of chocolate chip cookies melting on your tongue, and oiled rainbows on granite streets. forget the feeling of warm sloppy kisses between study sessions and the tickle of secrets whispered into your skin during chemistry classes.
forget all semblances of a life you didn’t have the chance to live to its fullness before it was wrenched away from your hands, but don’t forget that singular moment when it all changed. the way your blood ran cold, so cold it froze the jar of your heart. remember the week that followed, the emptiness you felt. the sound of static buzzing through your ears. commemorate this. let it be the only connection to the life you lost while trying to live.
step five.
give your loss a name. call it eden’s aftermath, exodus, a pipe dream.
step six.
ensure, and please note carefully, that there are no remnants of nostalgia hiding in your pockets. nostalgia hinders step four’s progress. wash it out with a spoonful of denial and leave it to dry under the burning rays of indifference. that will do the trick.
step seven.
lastly, know that it might prick a bit when that one person whose presence you’d gotten used to decides to leave. after all, it’s not them ― they are beautiful and bright and in their eyes you see the planets align themselves in several different ways. it is you ― with your bullet of a mouth and sandpapered skin that makes it uncomfortable for them to breathe in when they stay for too long. issue a genuine smile. say something nonsensical like “it’s alright, i understand,” or “oh i really don’t mind, it was nice meeting you.” and when they are gone, lock yourself in a room with this list and repeat it to yourself, like a mantra, a catholic prayer.
only when your skin is soaked with tears, and your chest heaves with the forbearance of tearing your ribcage apart, should you stop praying. and then put on a carefree smile, wipe away that person too, and tell yourself a pretty lie.
something like, everything is going to be alright.
