The Week It Happens
The week it happens, your only job is to stay. Not stay strong. Just stay.
I moved across the country with two suitcases and a heart that stopped mid-sentence. The wound is weeks old and I keep wishing someone would tell me what to do with it. So fine. I’ll be the someone, for whoever needs the list I needed. Here is what to do the week it happens.
Drink water. Do not text him. I texted him once, all right, and then I handed my best friend my passwords like a woman surrendering her weapons at the door. Eat crackers standing up if that’s what eating looks like. Cry in a parking lot with the dignity of a wet paper bag. I did.
The week it happens, your only job is to stay. Not stay strong. Just stay.
Do the dishes tomorrow. Answer the texts next week. Become wise later, or never. This week, water and witnesses. That’s the whole assignment.
— S.
