Twenty Years

Twenty years or twenty minutes? Feels just the same. It's all still there.
Memories both good and painful, neatly stored but not forgotten, never to be erased, even if I could.

The capacity to move on, the necessity of moving on, doesn't mean forgetting, or even healing,
it just means getting on--learning to live with the past but not in it's shadow.

One life ends, another begins.

You draw a line to mark the division but you keep moving. You build a wall, but not an impenetrable one; there's always a door or a window and you visit from time to time, re-live the history. It's all still there, protected from time. The flowers are fresh and so are the wounds.