Move on

What does it mean to move on? To accept the broken windows for what they are, glass and wood? To look in the lake for a reflection when all you see are ripples? To think about an empty hand but never bother to look down and make sure? Does it really matter if you’ve moved on physically, when emotionally you're still there?

Still there, watching the rocks break the glass then piece it back together again. Movie magic, photo manipulation, a s****y memory, whatever you called it. Still there, making waves in the water because you don’t like the reflection that stands beside you. Still there, a calloused palm at your side that aches like it’s been lanced but you’re too afraid to check for blood.

Look, d****t. Put the camera down, stop playing in the water and carrying fistfuls of rocks. Look at your hand. It’s scary, I know. Look anyway. Move on.