It’s no longer the beginning
But it’s not the end
A change that was coming
But a surprise none-the less
Shock, grief, resignation, acceptance
Feelings flow over
Without being identified
Getting all muddled up
And mixed together
Like a soup or a stew
But it’s not really hot
And it’s not really cold
It’s in the in-between stage
Not young, not old
A part of me wants to embrace it
And a part wants to rebel
What kind of ending will this story have?
Do I want to know?
This will end the way all things tend to end
It will stop being new
It will become “normal” and “routine”
But what I am really waiting for
What I am afraid to hope for
Is the day I will say,
“I feel so good now!
I had forgotten what good felt like.”
And now that I have said it out loud,
I am afraid that day will not come.
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