I’m grateful for slow moving weekdays. An open book, that matches my bedspread. A pile of pillows and the little birdies in the cedar outside.
“How are you doing”
It’s relentless. And I haven’t decided how to answer. The answer seems to be yes. Yes to like anything. Answering makes me emotional. I’m not processing.
It’s not about how much can I take. I can take it all. But am I even happy? It’s if it will ever get better. It’s not just happiness, it’s care. Will he protect your love? Treasure it dearly? Carry it proudly? Is there room for me in this relationship?
I’m losing myself. This isn’t me. I read in a book yesterday, “love so often the reason to stay, not enough the reason to leave.”
I’m lonely, why do I push so hard for it to work. He says it all the time; maybe he’s better off alone. How has six years gone by?
I don’t think we’ve grown closer. Not at all.