shitty girlfriend. brilliant wife.

I’ve had a somewhat similiar conversation with four people over the past four days, I make a really great wife, but the shittiest girlfriend on Earth.

It’s not that I cheat or mistreat anyone. On the contrary, I’m fiercely loyal and actually enjoy breaking my back for anyone I’m in love with – which tends to be everyone.

I’ve always considered myself a servant to a certain degree. I think I’ve got a good grip on how terrible the planet is, so I go out of my way to ease other human’s experience by being a flexible, easy going creature.

I’ve been divorced nearly four years now. All that I’ve learned from “dating” is that being flexible and easy going just means you’re a pushover / headboard notch.IMG_1558

My ex-husband killed a piece of me that I miss. There’s really no description for exactly what it is. But a large component of me has been notably absent since we split. I thought I’d keep his attention by crusading overseas to be a very successful Writer in New York City. No dice.

I realize I can’t keep torturing myself over someone who ate a decade of my life and never gave a shit about me. I get that part. What I don’t get, is dating. It is an inane spiral of nothingness that usually sends me into a pit of longing for what I thought I once had.

I can pool everyone together and project love to take the edge off of daily existence.  I somehow manage to independantly survive in one of the most difficult places to get by. I can wear heels and a smile every day to blend with whatever crowd I’m swimming in. But I can’t shake the perpetual saddness of learning that what I believed was once the most important focus of my pulse was nothing more than fiction.

Some days are worse than others. And while I appreciate the “get over it” mold that life casts us in. I know there’s part of me that never will, and doesn’t want to “get over it”. I guess I’d rather hurt forever over one thing that I thought was real instead of dancing around joyful after discovering the center of my life was just another empty lie.

And this, blog family, is spoken like a true Poet. The older I get, the rarer I realize we are.

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