So I am imagining a hole in a wide plane. The plane would be my life. The hole would be the hole left by my parents. Now I'm envisioning a bit of festering on the edges of the hole. What is festering? Is it me?
Anyway, I am also picturing a bridge over the hole. A simple unadorned bridge arching gently over the hole. And then there I am, walking over the bridge.
The point is that there is a hole, a painful void that my parents ripped out of my life. It is there and it will always be there. It cannot be filled. But I can get around it and over it. It's there, it exists, but I can live with it, move around it.
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