Things got very dark for me in the six months since I returned from living abroad.
I’m coming out the other side now.
I read back through the poems/pieces I wrote back then, and I feel like I’ve put some distance between how I was then, and how I feel now.
I’m healing. Slowly. But slow progress is still progress.
And I don’t want to delete those poems either. Because my feelings were valid at the time. And still are valid now.
But I’m doing better.
Touch wood. Because I still have OCD, don’t I?
(And for any of you wondering, love exists after heart break. And it’s even sweeter for it.)