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Confused alien in the monkey jungle
I met my husband when he was only 14 years old. Fourteen. Kids. We were kids. Little virgin children playing in the tall grass. Dreaming of a future. Still, twenty four years later, there is no one else I would want to spend my life with. It is pathetic. People change so much yet they are always who they are. It takes a long time to accept what's so obvious.
I keep waiting for messages in big bold letters that would lead me to believe otherwise. I know that I will never be first choice for anyone ever. I know that I am the woman that a man will spend time with when there is no one better around and will be set aside just as quickly when the bigger better faster more arrives.
How many times do I have to keep picking myself up after getting tossed to the ground. When do I get to give up and stay down. When do I get to choose to stop doing the work. When do I get to opt-out and just rot away in silence and solitude and anonymity, in my flabby flesh bag of a body, and my grey expanse of a soul.
6:05 PM - Wednesday, Aug. 08, 2018
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