Time Does Not Heal

Lately, I'm allowing myself to acknowledge where my actions, words, and days of feeling tenderhearted or angry are coming from. Surprise, surprise, it is stemming from things I once threw aside thinking "If I grow distant enough from this memory, the stronger I will be!" False. I'm debunking the myth that time heals once and for all for myself. 

Time does not heal. Time will not dissolve, breakdown, or solidify old wounds. It will not carry me with trumpets, wearing a clock around my neck, swinging it like a badge of honor. I cannot celebrate waiting like a prize. Celebrate the calendar months gone since conception of the wound, all of the days gone ignoring it. "Time will heal it! Time will tell!"

Time has no consciousness to nurture the tender seed I let it toss aside. Time takes the seed, grows a wild thick forest of brush to shift through. Releases monsters to guard the entanglements, sprouting sturdy gates no man wants to climb over. Visitation and reconciliation will now require a flashlight and spade. A map and a hard hat. The riveting courage to pave a road to carry that seed out. To heave it over my shoulder, bring it back home, tuck it into bed, and commit to speaking with it every morning. To commit not just to that seed, but the many more trips, to many other forests no pioneer has set foot in. 

Time does not settle, cure, or reconstruct. Attention and affection settles, cures, and reconstructs. Today, I set out to reclaim. Brush the dirt off the bones, tend the overgrown, water the wild, and bring home what is rightfully mine. All bruised and dinged up, it is rightfully mine to tend.  

Nicolette Venia