seperation, marriage and divorce.

he lived near historic homes, the kind they give tours through that allow people to feel cultured. he lived near a cemetery. he lived near a library. and like those places he was educational. emotional academia. i will not,now or ever, name names, but my most recent attempt at making it work, at making a relationship happen, failed. it failed because i wanted more than he could give. it failed because i couldn't be honest with myself and he couldn't handle being the bad guy. you can't win this way. he lived near historic homes- the kind i am fascinated by because i envy, at times, the simplicity those folks had in the day to day. in the ordinary moments. he lived near a library, the kind i have always sought refuge in, the kind he would not. he lived near a cemetery- a place i think i might one day find my answers in. the place she is. my mother. an entry for a later date. he couldn't know of answers in death, safety in books, curiosity in historic architecture. he found solace in more, more and more. more to own, more to covet, more to avoid. we could never really have worked, i know that, but i told myself that i could fix him. he who is made of fear. he who is scared and anxious. i could fix it all. and maybe i could have if i was more pop and flash and less want and process.

today, en route to a job interview-i eagerly await the results of this, i went into the smallest starbucks i have ever been inside. and across from me i saw the most attractive stranger i have ever laid eyes on. young, tattooed, business casual with sneakers ( i love this), auburn faux hawk. i instantly envisioned his & his french bulldogs, weekends gardening and adopted girl children named for cowgirls we both knew from stories. i gave this dreamboat a second glance and i realized he was reading the new york post and we were divorced before the honeymoon ever was.