It's a remarkable significant feeling. The worst is over. Of that one particular broken story. The Wildforest has taken me through the worst, kept me together, gathered my broken selves. The magic remains true. The magic becomes ever stronger. I will not carry any sadness into my new year. I will indeed celebrate Dia De Los Corazones Muertos and bring forth a creation to balance all the heart deaths that have ever hounded me.
This time one year ago, I wrote this poem (which will soon be part of a collection that I will publish soon):
One year after, I have faces and names, I have had the hard truths and the silent battles that raged -- invisible skirmishes that fatally wounded. I have quelled the wildfires, stemmed the floods, though there will always be devastations. Ruins to be rebuilt or left to rest in peace and in pieces.
One year after, a month before my very own new year of life, I am at the ending of a tale that is also a beginning. I spiral to the start, everything is the same yet everything is changed. Rules are remade, they will be broken again and again. Love will show up in its many tricky guises. I will continue to be brave, and love anyway.