Just Another Break

I’ve been through more break ups than I can count. My first break up happened before my first kiss. I left Jesus one Sunday morning, as his blood and body lay in front of me, an offering I denied in tears of guilt.

My second break up is a blur, I ghosted a Tunisian man whose momma had cooed her way through our first meeting, my broken french battling an intercontinental phone connection. I still remember the way his body looked leaning against his blue motor bike in the the only picture he’d ever sent me. I was 14, and still had never been kissed.

My third break up was the kind of mess only a teenager can dream up. It involved moonlight, 3-ways, devastating lies and cuts that transcended the physical attempts to bleed away pain. 

Since then, the kisses have multiplied, and so have my goodbyes. Friends, lovers, so many ties slipping through my fingers. I thought that after divorce, I’d conquered goodbye. I must be impervious, to come down from that peak and still have heart left to give. No other goodbyes could compare. 

And yet, yesterday, I lay in bed with a man I adore and we held each others’ hands as we untied our bonds. Pulling back months of joy and love, we exposed the pain of parting paths. My biological drives at odds with his dreams, we broke open our hearts and I learned goodbye is not a mountain, and there is no peak. Just the endless river of human desire and the need to survive, to surrender.

Nadia lives and writes in RVA. She’s an avid listener, joyful minimalist and always has at least three projects in the works. 

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