packed, but where am i?

[e_liberation]

I packed it all.
The pictures, the ticket stubs, every smell, memory, or phrase,
every inside joke, all the ideas, thoughts and secrets shared.
I changed my bedding, made new friends, cut my hair, planned a trip.

I've kept myself busy, so busy in fact that I often believe it's behind me - packed up and buried like a coffin - death, it's (just) 6 feet under.
And there are times it's all so far away. I can't reach far enough to grasp even one memory.
I can't remember what the love felt like that once poured out from me because in those moments I become overwhelmed with sadness and grief, and questions, and I sink - lower. deeper. further away from all logic. from me and my relentless, unforgiving, persistent need to get. over. it.
To move on.

But there are days.
There are days when it all comes flooding back to me. And I drown in the tears, from the wonder, from the heartache, the lies. the soul crushing, debilitating and seemingly endless pain of it all.
I can't get far enough away from his voice - every word echos inside of me.

There are days that 6 feet simply isn't deep enough.

And I wonder. How do you pack up the stain it leaves on your heart - on your best days and worst nights?
Because it just couldn't fade away fast enough.