Nevermore

I mistook selfishness for independence. A ready laugh for happiness. A tender touch for true understanding.

My marriage has been over for a long time, but I only just recently came to accept it. There was a line, it was crossed, and somehow the switch in my brain labeled “HOPE” was thrown to “OFF”. It was both freeing and poignant, sad yet a relief.

It’s a different kind of sadness, that which comes after acceptance. It’s the cleansing, healing tide of pain that leaves you lighter when it recedes. It’s the kind that causes you to turn your head to the sun when the tears run fast and unchecked down your face. Not the kind that makes you huddle into a ball while you stare wide-and-dry-eyed at the great nothing in front of you.

Now I mourn for the once-was, instead of the never-going-to-be.

I might mourn for the never-was, too.

 

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