She said, “Tell me how a person goes on, after.”
I stared, dumbfounded and in disbelief,
as she chuckled at my expression.
I didn’t find humour in her statement
Snapping my response like a bullwhip
“You just do, or you don’t.
A lot of days, you wish you didn’t.”
I mused a moment, counting heartbeats in my head
Before responding with an aching chest –
“You go on, because your body craves oxygen.
You go on because your body requires sustenance
You go on because time acts like duct tape
You go on because people are counting on you
You go on out of spite, or sheer will, sometimes
You go on because your soul builds up scar tissue
You go on because eventually you’ll stop bleeding
You go on because you heal, in some fashion
When you do you feel lucky because some never do.”
She sat, dumbfounded, with her mouth ajar
Obviously surprised, I waited, and I counted
the heartbeats, watched the confusion
Unfunny, I chuckled at her expression.
“Does it get better?” she asked, and
my eyes filled my soul with an ocean of grief
I smiled, regretfully, wiping away tears, then
sighed with my heart in my throat,
“No, but you learn to live with it.”