Right now, in the early morning hours, I feel like a shelter dog, sitting behind the chain link, watching hopefully at every passing person, thinking perhaps that this will be the person that takes me home, cares for me and enjoys my company.
I had a marriage, now I don't. I miss the day-to-day companionship and the reasonable security of knowing that person would be there when you opened your eyes. And, when you closed them.
I miss the shared memories. I miss the casual gestures, the hand-holding and the warm hugs.
What I don't miss is too much to put in to words.
Two people decide on a relationship. Two people choose to marry. It's not always two people who make the choice to tear their lives apart.
Life goes on. None of us have a life clear of emotional baggage. All of us have scars, even those who have been sacred enough to have long-term relationships that are only ended by death. Some of us replace our lost relationships with family, some with a pet and some can never get over the losses and the pain and take their own life, or put themselves in harm's way at some point. Some drink, some overeat and some slide into clinical depression.
Some of us go to the beach and sit on rocks, watching the surf and counting the pelicans as they glide overhead.
Nothing ever really answers the questions as to why things happen, or when they went wrong or how to fix them. Perhaps those questions shouldn't be asked. Perhaps they should, and the honest answers have been there all along.
I know one thing. I'm tired of being the second fiddle, the shelter dog, the unwanted, unneeded and I am so better than this.
Think I'll go to the beach. And search my soul for those honest answers.
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