There’s a picture in my head, a scene that plays over and
over again. It’s my chance to get back at him, to not only win the battle, but
win the war. He loses his cool; I keep mine. His weapons are no match for mine,
my words are more powerful than his sharpest swords. My tongue is more accurate
than his scattered attempts to dominate me.
I win.
But she’s there too, and the emotion that I hide from him
bubbles to the surface. I can’t help her and myself at the same time. I can’t
force her to choose sides and I won’t allow myself to unmask my true feelings
for him in front of her.
I send her away.
He tore us apart once before. Our once entwined lives are on
two separate paths. Our children know nothing of each other. The stories we
tell don’t resonate because there is no shared history.
Without history, how is there a future? Where are the
building blocks that support us, enrich us? Perhaps one day we can build new
connections, retell old stories, introduce our children. But not now and not
for a long time.
I wait. And I miss her.
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