Lessons

Thousand

The storm surrounds me, and it amazes me how the rest of the world continues to spin.
I've felt it's presence for a while now; yet there I stood defiant, strong, watching as the walls steadily caved in upon me.

For some reason I believed it would be easier this time.
It`s day two, the fear comes and I succumb. Panic and terror crush me,

My ears drum with the sound of the rain pelting against my windscreen, the earth wearing the tears I couldn't allow.

Water drowns the road in front of me, tearing away the bottom of my car. 
I am left on the side of the road, tears matching those of the sky.
For the first time in seven years I’m finally alone.
My broken car leads me home once more, breathless, and desperate. I stare motionless into my husband’s face, the terror in his eyes, The desperation from his lips, the same lips I've kissed a thousand times, and here they are, begging me to come home. I'm disoriented, so tired.
His whispers lack conviction, they promise that everything is going to be ok, that in twenty years we will look back in disgust at how we almost threw this away.
He asks me what's holding me back, why I can`t forgive.
The thought flutters its way through thousands;

"there's nothing left to push me forward, every dream and hope, every promise, slipped away silently like the smoke of a thousand candles."

Dust

“Things are sweeter when they're lost. I know--because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly, Dot, and when I got it it turned to dust in my hand.”
― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The beautiful and Damned.

Courage...

Broken.

He looks down at his empty finger, at the indent only visible to himself. He doesn't care. He pushes thoughts of her away to the place where memories fester. Tonight is about himself, old friends, and good times. Wedding guests are littered in campers and tents around the small town hall. This town feels safe, as memories which are often left behind with childhood, dance in the air like morning fog. He had spent the evening reliving his youth, careless, free, and dancing with anyone in sight. There are no consequences tonight, life is reduced to instinctual simplicity, and all that matters is the sweet taste of the drink and the beautiful drug induced numbness now clouding his brain.
He Inhales deeply, her floral, sweaty, scent washes over him, carnal desire taking over. It happens naturally without effort, that's what's most exhilarating about it. His hands curve around the shape of her hips, round and soft, new; her hands nervously exploring the curvature of his muscular back. Visions of "more" tangle themselves around her consciousness, a crystallized future with a perfect stranger.
Moments from the hour before flash like heart beats.
His arm around her, camera flashes, laughter, drinks, his friends surrounding them. No one speaks of it; no one even dares think it.
He's pulled back to the present as her fingers become lost in his hair. She pulls him towards her, lips wet, soft, different. She's not beautiful, she's plain and plump but feels like a faraway island, untouched, waiting, exhilarating. And in that moment his drunken stoned heart relinquishes it.
Passion coursing through his body, intoxicating tingles, hands, breath, lips, he’s not felt this way in a long time. A scream shatters through the silence, so loudly he's sure she can hear it. It cries "stop! You're married" but it's too late.
She's already broken.

Letting go.

The Storm

“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.” - Haruki Murakami

Sometimes it feels as if it is over, as if it has finally ended and peace lies ahead. It's a terrible thing trying to follow one's heart, especially when it happens to be in a million fragments. Shards against shards, jagged edges cutting deeper. Sometimes it's as if each of these pieces begs for a future of its own, its own outcome.
I can say with certainty that three days ago those pieces were screaming with freedom, that they were united if only for a mere moment, and pointed in a direction so far away from my husband that I believed I was already there.
Throughout the course of the last few days, I am left only with a glimmer of hope, not more than a tiny warm flame flickering desperately on a wick that's always been too small. A sense of self-doubt, a sense of fear so crippling it leaves me breathless. A part of me knows that leaving this marriage is the only viable option to save what's left of my soul. I cannot stay. He keeps dragging me back; it eats at me day after day.
I whisper to myself, as I sit in my parents’ house, lonely, confused, lost, "am I free yet?" and an answer comes silent and clear.
"This storm has only just begun"

Strength

Goodbye Love

"There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice."
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
 
It’s hard to believe that I used to be one of those beautiful people who saw love as the essence of our existence, someone who believed so strongly that if you loved as hard as you possibly could, that you would be somehow shielded from the world, from hurt. I imagined a love so pure that it would always be enough; it could and would carry you to the place where childhood dreams and hopes still exist. The mere concept of the non-existence of fairy tales made me shake my head. It wasn't a simple case of denial; this was a little girl who was nourished by stories of love, who thrived upon tales of courage and hope. She grew up and indeed fell in love, she spent her days floating around her beautiful home that they had built together, imagining the tiny handprints that would soon smear the window panes while little eyes peeked out to the garden beyond. She trusted wholly and effortlessly, and quite simply believed that she really did have her happily ever after. Life was beautiful, pure, and sunny.
Until it wasn't.