This is what you do, my pet, when the airplane of your love has gone up in smoke: You land it (maybe) in the best way that you can.
You let it rest on the grounds of some open field in the middle of nowhere where all is unrecognizable, including the tremor in your hands.
You eject yourself from the pilot seat; smelling the ash of his promises all around you.
And then, despite your heart-on-fire crying out to stop, you run.
You run fast and sloppily in every which direction, you get as far away from what you were.
You don’t think of the way the sky looked on your first date, or how the sunset turned his hair that golden brown on the train to Montauk, you try not to remember the clouds in his eyes on the day he said he loved you for the first time.
You ignore that you will never be above it all with him again.
You sense grass and earth; the solidness of your new reality.
But you do not think of the plane.
You do not remember how good it felt to fly. You just listen to your boots hit the ground and concentrate on how much it hurts to breathe while running in the opposite direction.
If your tears could water the heat fuming behind you,
you would stay and put out the flames.
But there isn’t enough water to undo the damage,
and it’s best to let it return to the ashes from whence it came.
(The Broken-winged Pilot)
“Listen to me, girl, I told you to not walk back this way.
Do not tread the path to your past for the sake of remembering, there is nothing here but shadows.
See the reflection bouncing back?
That is the sunlight, that is the way out; the way to ‘new’.
Turn around, follow the brightness.
It may not soothe you, creature of night, to see yourself so fully in your glory of battle won; but you have been below ground long enough.
Go back into the realm of sight.
The world of what was will now be what you stand on.
This tunnel will be a memory, and I will mark you safe by keeping you out.”
(The gate keeper of heartbreak)