STOPPED.

Stuck. Trapped. Ensnared. Chained. 

She heaved a sigh, and decisively yanked the headphones out of her hears. If she heard Celine Dion’s quiet croons about lost love one more second, she’ll scream. Taking a deep breath, she tried to remember the words of the Dalai Lama. 

Live in the present. Live in the present. Live in the present. 

The past has already gone, the future is not yet here. Why worry about what is already gone? Why fret over something as indefinite as the future? 

Stop. Stop. Stop thinking. 

Live in the present. Live in the present. Live in the present. 

Did she make the right choice? Did she make a mistake? Should she have let him go?

Stop. Stop. Stop thinking. 

Stop. 

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OUCH, DEAD AND CENTER

"I didn’t exactly want to get divorced. I didn’t exactly not want to. I believed in almost equal measure both that divorcing Paul was the right thing to do and that by doing so, I was destroying the best thing I had. By then my marriage had become like the trail in that moment when I realized there was a bull in both directions. I simply made a leap of faith and pushed on in the direction where I’d never been. 

Cheryl Strayed "Wild: From Lost to Found on the PCT"

The perfect punch, dead and center. 

She thought she was done—over it. Or, at the very least, 99.99% done, 99.99% over it. She’s on the mend. She had her whole life ahead of her. The past is the past, and the future is bright before her. 

She had learned what she needed to learn, and it’s time to move on. 

She had to move on. 

So, it frustrated her, when that simple little passage hooked onto that last 0.001% inside her. When that simple little passage made all the raw emotions from that time to surge back into the surface.

She was supposed to be over it. She thought she was over it. 

Did she make the right choice? 

What does it even matter, anymore? She had met the bull, had shut her eyes, and made that leap of faith. She’d made her choice, and is now walking the path she’d never been. Maybe it was the right choice—maybe not. 

She had no way of knowing it—not yet. 

So she’ll keep walking. She’ll keep walking, and walking, and walking.

Still, as she quietly shut off her kindle, and packed it back inside her bag, she couldn’t help but take a deep breath in an attempt to ease the ache. 

Ow. 

UPON A PRECIPICE

It wasn’t a flash, and there was no burn. Her heart hadn’t pounded, and the butterflies didn’t…fly. Everything was just so clear-cut and logical.

Her mind fully understood. She should be falling for him. She should love him. Everything about him is great. He’s near perfect. So why? What’s the problem? What is he unable to give her? Why can’t her heart follow the logic so readily presented by her brain and just…fall? Plop at his feet?


The breeze felt absolutely wonderful. The warmth of the sun quietly soaked into her. Somewhere nearby, a bird chirped a greeting, and another answered in song. The resounding crash of waves filled the air with the subtle scent of salt and fish and sea. Mixed in with it was the faint, musky scent of his soap. Caught, she quietly closed her eyes, leaned forward, and breathed.

The familiar scent of soap, laundry detergent, and a faint hint of sweat filled her nose. Letting go of the handle bars, thoroughly unable to resist, she sighed as she snaked her arms around him and gently rested her head against his broad back.

It was so comfortable together with him.

This comfort, couldn’t this be love?

Maybe it’s love. Who’s to say love has to be the flash and burn? Can’t it also be a gentle and steady warmth?

"Tired?" He asks, voice softly amused. "Should we go rest?"

I need to fall in love with him. "No, I can keep going."

She struggled against the desire to sigh. 

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