I’m angry, I’m hurt, I’m sad, and none of this is a surprise. Which is some comfort. Because I knew. And knowing means my instincts are good, solid, reliable. Knowing cushions the fall, makes the landing softer.
“I don’t trust him,” I said, right there in black and white.
I was right.
But I still kept a little piece of hope alive, because dammit, there was something there that I haven’t felt in a long long time. And I wanted it. Even though I knew, really, that it was an illusion.
Sometimes those imaginings have a power all of their own, they are warm and beautiful, and when you put them to bed each night and give them a soft kiss on the forehead, they are so very sweet. Full of promise and potential. And so you are reluctant to do the work you need to do to shatter them.
I did the work. The pieces are on the ground.
And this is not the draft that I had ready to publish. Not even close.
But it is what it is.
*Before you get too worried about me, let me say that when I was looking for a song for this post, I laughed my head off at this clip. Henry Rollins knows what’s what. He’s a god. And I’m okay, truly.