I go to the farmer's market, and intentionally buy a croissant from the sweet young French bakers.

~

Sitting at his table, in my clothes from the night before. My eye makeup and my smile are soft and smudged. I am watching him move around his little kitchen, his body softer and greyer than the last time I saw it, but no less precious.

He pulls a hot fresh croissant from his air fryer with his fingertips and slides it in front of me.

~

I take it home, and in the quiet of the house, I split it apart in my hands. The layers separate under the pressure, crisp and soft and buttery. I push then into my mouth, bite by bite.

My throat is thick. It tastes like sand, and bitter memories.

I shred the croissant, and stuff it all in. I will not be stopped. I will move forward.

I will not let him take this from me.

~

I join the dating apps again.

"You have to take more risks," my best friend says. "You have to put yourself out there, and give them more time. You write them off too quickly."

She's right. I know she is.

The last several dates I was on I was seized with a sudden panic, and fled without making a second date.

I join and start swiping recklessly.

~

Memories rise. Great heaving beasts that surface like breaching whales, silently and without warning, sending ripples across my self confidence.

I harpoon them without mercy.

That is enough of that, I slice across the memories and send them back down.

I will carve out his memory with a knife.

That is enough of that.

~

I go out on a date. It's a nice one. I don't run away. He doesn't try to hug me at the end, and I like that.

~

When are you going out with him again?

I don't know. Soon, maybe.

~

I go out with him again.

I feel like a liar, a betrayer, wrestling with these two facets of my heart.

But forward has nothing to do with what's behind.

I don't believe in closure. I only believe on moving forward.

I go out with him a third time.

~

There is a wound on my heart as wide as his name, but we are moving forward.

.

Rosie

Before&After