It Continues . . .
Ah, what led to that post, and to all the other posts, for that matter. What keeps me posting. Pain has its outlets, I suppose. You can’t just walk away from a marriage, regardless of the length of its duration. You’re not supposed to walk away. If it’s done, if it has to be done, you must finish it. Whatever it is that grows between two people, whatever it is that causes them to get married in the first place, when it lies there dying, you have to finish it. You can’t just let it bleed to death. Gut it. Slit its throat. Shoot it. But make sure that it’s gone. Don’t let it lie there and suffer, longing for a life that can never be retrieved, wishing, praying for an existence that can never be had again. You can’t just walk away from a life. Don’t pervert what was once beautiful by torturing it.
Sometimes it’s so easy to think you’ll be fine, you’ll go back to the way things were. You were fine before. You can be fine again. But then you wake up at four in the morning, thinking, remembering how you used to sleep. How the bed used to have a heavier feel, and how it was almost too warm under the blankets sometimes. How you never slept without touching skin that wasn’t your own. How you grew to feel safe from someone’s presence. You remember, and you can’t breathe, and you cry, and you can’t go back to sleep. The only way to sleep sometimes is to pretend you feel that warmth. To pretend you feel safe. But it never fails to disappear as soon as you wake up. You can only fool yourself for so long. I guess I’ve fooled myself long enough. But I have the feeling that I’ll be fooling myself to sleep for a long, long time . . .
