September 24th, 2017by snader

Moving on, as a concept, is easy. It is automatically breathing and taking one step and another, it is walking forward with a hint of history in the back of your eyes and a gleam of hope in front of them. It is doing what people tell you is ‘best, is most normal for people in your situation’ as if they have any idea what that situation is and as if they know what is best for you. But nonetheless, moving on, as a concept, is easy. It requires no effort, it is what we do, what we do, what we do.
Yet in reality moving on is pitch black, is fighting yourself and kicking the walls until you grow tired and lie down to sleep. Preferably for a few days. Maybe even a year. It is being torn between the bittersweet sensation of being content in the moment and knowing the dead will never be content again. It is that strange feeling when you laugh or smile until your cheeks hurt or giggle like back in the days when things were okay and you were fine. Moving on feels like forgetting and it is smiling when you hear their name and not crying every time at the thought of them and is leaving their things in a box on the side of the desk in the room that was once theirs. It is filling the blank space at the table, removing their things from the bathroom.

Moving on is a battle, not really uphill or downhill, but in a place where up and down do not exist and roads are just lines and space is just black fog. It is never feeling okay to feel okay, never looking right when you catch yourself smiling in the mirror, never sounding quite normal when you break out in a laugh and the people around you join in.

There is always a missing link, is always something not quite there but not completely gone either. It is the lingering of them, of your mother your father your sister and your brother. It is the lingering of my brother. My brother who thought like a chain smoker smokes and was addicted to pondering over things no ordinary man dwells on.

Moving on is balance is storm is rainy days. Moving on is my brother is me is all of us.
Moving on is nothing. Moving on is all.

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