sick and sad.

A year ago was the last time we shared a bed. Tonight, I’m a day out from the flu, my three kids are snuggled in bed with me, snoring in a way that strangely compliments the trains I can hear outside. 

A year ago we had just moved. Tonight, I’m in a new place. This time a place on my own.

A year ago my drive home was aimed at Mt Olympus. Toward a family with a husband and a dog. Tonight, it’s under and over bridges toward a few more boxes left to unpack and a cat. 

I know this day won’t always hurt. But tonight it hurts. It hurts like hell. And the next few days will too. I know I can and will make new memories and things won’t hurt as much. But it’s still too close and it still hurts too much. If I could pour an ocean between now and then I would, but I’d probably drown trying to swim back to then even though I know I can’t and it wouldn’t change a thing.

Separation, divorce—ending the year from when it all started with the flu in my new place. Life is sure a fucked up ride sometimes.