Sometimes moving on feels less like healing
and more like drinking something you really, really don’t want to drink.

When you’ve been wronged,
there are bitters.

A strong aftertaste.
A little bitterness on the tongue.
A memory that keeps reminding you: Oh yes. That happened.

And then there is the perfectly human thought:

Wouldn’t it be nice
if the people who hurt us
had to taste their own medicine?

Not permanently.
Just a sip.

Perhaps a nice, satisfying gulp.

Maybe the smirk would disappear.
Maybe they’d sit quietly for a moment
and contemplate their choices.

Is that wrong?

I don’t think the thought makes us bad people.
We’re human, not Buddhist monks floating serenely above the fray.

But eventually,
we have to put down the glass.

Because moving on isn’t saying
what happened was okay.

It isn’t forgiveness on demand.
It isn’t forgetting.
And it certainly isn’t pretending
we weren’t hurt.

Moving on is simply refusing
to let someone else’s bad behavior
take up permanent residence
inside your head.

They may never get their comeuppance.

They may never understand.

They may even continue smiling that infuriating smile.

Fine.

Let them.

You have a life to get back to.

And honestly,
the best revenge may simply be
developing such a full, interesting life that you forget what their smirk looked like.

Although,

I reserve the right
to occasionally imagine
the universe handing them
a very large glass of bitters.