“If only love was so easy to discontinue as the things that represent it,” I had written in my journal the day my ex-husband and I signed our divorce papers.
Over the course of the holidays, our relationship had dissolved, leading to an amicable but heartbreaking agreement to part ways. That day, I imagined tossing the sands of our love disunited into the vastness of the ocean, where slowly but surely, they would learn to be themselves again.
“Maybe one day pieces of me will meet pieces of you in the dance,” I had reflected, sitting beside myself, sitting beside the river.
At the beginning, my hope lingered like an undercurrent, pulling at me when I least expected it: It seems that memories, like love, cannot be erased by the simple act of disbanding vows under oath, signed, and sealed un-promises.
But in the months following, I realized that sometimes, beautiful people are not meant to be captured. That, sometimes, love is a wildfire; setting alight and sweeping away all that is known, leaving fertile soils for new growth.
My experience inspired me to write a poem. This poem is a message for lonely hearts in the new year; a testament to new beginnings, and reinvigorated hope.
It’s a reminder that, no matter where you are or who you’re with, your beautiful soul is a gift; and that no matter what is lost in the ash, you can rise again, as the phoenix, by the light of your own brilliant flame.
This year I’ve learned that alone
is not the equivalent to lovelessness;
Love is a universal gift
to offer to every person you meet.
That solitude is not loneliness;
If your own soul is kind to itself
it’s good company to keep.
That goodbye isn’t black and white,
and doesn’t mean, “I don’t love you”
your gifts aren’t what they need.
I’ve learned that, in a world where
you can build monsters or works of art out of nothing,
the fate is your choosing;
But even so,
crashing and burning
is a wildfire trading old growth for new.
I’ve learned that
just showing up
and being kind
to whoever needs it at the time
is enough love to keep thriving.
Build a nest of your ashes
and watch the phoenix rise
let people go, if you’re no longer helping them grow
be kind always
I don’t know much
but this much I know.
Author: Kala Farnham
Image: @ecofolks Instagram
Editor: Sara Kärpänen
Copy editor: Callie Rushton
Social editor: Emily Bartran