The divorce was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through.
I miss her terribly. She wanted the divorce, I didn’t. I came home stupidly, still expecting that she would be there, and of course she wasn’t.
I should have been wiser and more honest. All that’s broken now, and it will never be reassembled, and it’s up to me to try to figure out what this new life looks like.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her in some way. But she’s not talking to me anymore, and there’s nothing I can do.
It’s only very recently that I’ve started looking for ways to have fun on weekends. I’m doing a show again. Dating here and there. Little driving trips.
I stayed in the house, probably longer than I should have, because I kept hoping that she might come home. Seems silly now.
I’ve been broken a long time. Trying not to be broken now. Takes a lot of energy. Radical honesty, that sort of thing.
Life isn’t a series of chapters. It’s a series of books. Each a sequel, starring ourselves as the main character and having been written by both the author and reader as one.