I’m writing more than I have in so many years I’ve lost count of the years, not the words. I’ve found parts of myself that were lost in time, and I’m learning to love those things about me I thought just existed in my past. Everything is uncertain at the moment, except how much I enjoy sitting outside and writing on my deck/patio with my dogs.
I’m staying in our house for now, hopefully I’ll keep it forever, but we’ll see. Being alone the first few months was hard, but I made it. Maybe it’s just human nature and to deny it, is like saying no thank you to living. I’m sure my quiet subconscious mind thinks that’s all I deserve, but I know my husband loved me.īut I’m definitely not looking for love right now… At least I don’t think I am, but maybe we all are. Because his love was only in passing, and never enough. And I bet a therapist would assure me it has to do with my father. I don’t know what it feels like, but I want to. I sometimes wonder if I’ve ever been truly in love in that all-encompasing all-consuming way I’ve only seen in movies and read in books. I hope I’m not being hopeful, but I’d like to believe that’s true. I’m guessing his first response may be of the sexual variety, but deep down, there’s a friendship there that hopefully will stay with us forever.
Being best friends was the best part about us, well, according to me.
Is there? I’m not sure, but I’d like to think we can stay friends forever. Every time I sit down to write about my separation from my husband and most probably, divorce and not have a bond for life.
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