letters to emma

You know, Emma

Sometimes there are these stories
that just well up and run over
for a long time
and you tell them in order to make sense of yourself.

But little by little, you find yourself telling them
less and less often,
and they simply become a handwritten part of you.
Time goes by. You become a deeper well than you were before.

And Emma, it isn’t that they haven’t healed,
but whenever you draw up that bucket
and think of it
and speak of it again
it feels raw, exposed, and fresh.

Healing can be like that.
Sometimes healing is natural;
sometimes unnatural.
Sometimes healing buries it deep,
but sometimes healing still feels like it happened this morning, Emma.

I wish you could bury the bad
and keep the good,
but sometimes you have to bury it all together
and trust in resurrection.


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