Moving on is not like a birthday, you can not count down the hours ‘til it arrives and you can not mark it on a calendar and you cannot call up your friends to help you celebrate. You cannot plan for it and you cannot conclude it by blowing out a candle. When moving on happens there will be no announcements, no notifications, and no congratulations. There will be no parade; only you will know. Moving on is like this: one day you will forget the taste. The next, you will forget the smell. Then the touch. Then the laugh. Then the smile. Then the jokes. Then the eyes, the hair, and the hands.You forget the sex. You forget the pulses, the beats, the rhythms, and how you sometimes felt like they all belonged to you. You forget the words; finally, you forget the voice that spoke the,. Moving on is not like the beginning of a new chapter, it is like beginning a new book- with each turned pace the last story you read fades into the background. A fairy tale that becomes just another book on a shelf; folded corners and underlined words the only reminder of how you used to touch and hold and love it. Moving on is waking up without a sour feeling in your stomach, looking at a familiar menu and ordering something different, taking the direct route to a destination and not the one that crosses a path you once set in stone. Moving on is when you think about him and do not punish yourself for it. Moving on is not to destroy or to combust or to set ablaze, it is simply to move, to advance, through space and time, to leave behind the familiar dull of heartbreak for the new, the unknown, the strange. Moving on is a bird flying south for the winter who decides maybe the warmth is not so bad, who decides maybe he will stay there for awhile; moving on is like freedom, is what moving on is like
Mackenzie Caitlin 