I've found someone else. We've dated for a few months now. We reach heights I'd never imaged. We scale mountains, even. We take long walks and have late night bike rides. Sometimes we fall into the dark places and spend a day on the couch with a blanket and a book. Some days, no book, just the silence. We move to the bed at night, usually for another round of reading. Sometimes for a round of crying. Sometimes, lately, writing.
We don't even leave the house some days, even though we planned to. Other times, we embrace not leaving and we try new recipes like Saag Paneer (for old time's sake-recipe post coming soon). We enjoy falling asleep to music. Whole albums. We wake to the music and let it play all day. We wander around this big house, the one built on a false foundation, we dream of the day we get to move. We write in a journal and other times we just laugh. Sometimes we cry, a lot. We think. We drink.
I am falling in love with her.
She is falling in love all over again with my kids. The way they talk about their day. The way they talk about their future. They way they pretend to be asleep but are definitely playing in their room trying to be quiet as hell.
She is magic, clothed in black, her past still hits her in waves. But she is so damn beautiful I can't help but look in the mirror and smile at her every morning.
She was there eight dark months after my first child was born, the day I finally felt confident enough to say I’ve got this. She was there at the end of long strings of days with three tired kids, she carried them, sleeping, from the car to their beds. She was always there. She was there when I decided to go back to work. She was there when I decided to divorce Mark.