At first, the memories will be thick, and you will find it hard to breathe without choking on one or more.

Every corner of the city will hold the dancing ghosts of you and the someone-you-no-longer-have.

Fluorescent store lights burn the silhouettes of late nights into the backs of your eyelids and the saltwater tears you can’t bring yourself to release make your voice a weak pink thing.

Jutting cobblestones, crooked front teeth, slick floors, wide brown eyes, tales of childhood hurt– all tripping hazards for the hopeless romantic.

Torn napkin edges littered with bleeding sharpie hearts shoved in a back pocket, to be found later and rubbed between thumb and forefinger, some sour parody of luck.

How darling are our incessant imperfections when seen through the amber glaze of new affection!

You will hurt. You will have to let yourself learn how to hold that hurt. Hug it close, learn it like a new lover, then you can release it. 

Things will be bad.

There will be Friday nights spent alone, dwelling on every word, wondering if it meant something else to someone else, something wrong and disjointed. Your skin will feel too small and you will weep at the magnitude of the universe, wondering where in this vastness your fragile bag of bones could possibly fit in.

But at some point, the sun will rise. Saturdays in the park will be for you and your body to enjoy in quiet companionship. For sitting under leaning golden leafed trees, spilling your soul to listening pages, letting the breeze pick up the vibrations of your weary bones.

Ease into yourself, young one. You have all the time you need.