Isn't it strange that we mourn like muscles?

Each movement we make brings back painful experiences etched into our tendons. Each inch we stretch is temporary relief before we fall into old habits and the tension pulls into our strings. Each breath is a simple release of a hand held too tightly or a misstep corrected by shifted footing.

We try to correct the pain that strikes us quicker than lightning. We walk through our days as if we were lightning rods for triggered pain. Each movement a practice of gritted teeth and each tendon pushing and pulling us so hard so we do not break.

How much more do we breathe or stretch or shake until we snap? Or do we snap?

Perhaps one day, you will wake, and you'll no longer feel the tightness that gripped you. Maybe then you'll have exercised the resilience within you and the memories will sleep in your muscles until needed again. Until then, we look for fixes in quickness or elixir filled kisses.

Or we practice until the pain is no more.