05.05.20 | 1053 am

the flood


We sat together on the sofa and cried, holding each other. Mourning the end of 12 years together. Mourning the happiness of our children. No words could come, except his laboured whisper, "come here."

So I laid my head on his chest and sobbed, wondering if this was the last time I would ever get to lay my head on a man's chest and feel emotionally connected to him. Wondered if at 36, I would never feel romantic love again. Wondered if maybe all the pain and disappointment and bitterly spat words are a small price to pay for both this small comfort and maintaining the illusion of a family unit for the kids' sake.

I even deluded myself, "it's just the stress of work and kids and household chores. The love really is still there underneath it all. Maybe separation will give us the necessary space to find love for each other again."

And if that's the delusion that will give me strength to pack my bags and walk out the door, move into a smaller place, move into a colder room, sleep alone for the first time in 17 years... well, I'm clinging to it like a life raft right now.