Circling The Drain

 Several months back, after a fight/"walk your ass home" marathon, the X, being the vandal that he is, decided to take out his frustration on a road sign...or three.  He found the blackest of black paint pens, and immortalized himself both coming and going, so that when I traveled this stretch of road as I often did (and still do), I would have a constant, unwelcome reminder of him whether I wanted to or not.  Thanks..you shouldn't have.  Really.
  So, the other day I was alone in my car, feeling introspective, enjoying my own company, having a conversation with myself in my head-wait, you do that too, right? Of course you do-anyway, so I'm cruising along, and happened to come upon the sign, and realized, with sort of an odd pleasure, that his name was faded.  So many days I have passed that sign, and I looked at it every single time I passed.  For so long just the sight of it, bold, brash, larger than life, was like having a hot butcher knife slashed through my chest.  Then after a while the pain dulled, and after a little more time, even though I'm hardwired to notice it, it didn't really register with me at all; it as like, yeah, I see you, now back to changing songs on my iPod. 
Now, not only do I take full notice of it, but I feel a little better each time.  Everytime I pass those signs, I notice it's faded just a bit more than it was the day before.  (Hellooooo METAPHOR!!)
If the inky black paint can fade after it's held its own thru wind, rain, dirt and snow, then I know I, too, will soon be free of my own burden.  Of course, I realize that there will always be a faint trace left behind, and only those that knew it was there in the first place will see it. 
How we look at it when that time comes will determine how much we've grown.