the year of.
by Michael King
the year of the breaking, first apart and then through. the year of words can’t restore everything, the limits of linguistics. the year of a thousand settings, but only now just venturing out of my head. of miles and miles of running, of hustling, for someone who walked away. the year of forgiveness, of letting go of heavy things to make room in my fingertips for the breeze. the year of learning things the hard way, that a person’s selfishness cannot be loved away, that my own brokenness was never anyone else’s to heal. the year of finding my strength in my shattered pieces, in my willingness to sit with my pain and study it and feel alive with it. the year of new horizons, of the courage to try again. the year of being brave, of working courage into a verb, of couraging. the year of discovery, this magic, was it here all along? the year of love, when it matters most, when it’s not easy, to everyone I have loved or will love. the year of searching for starlight.