I’ve been having a lot of thoughts lately. Big, soul searching thoughts. In many ways it wasn’t until K moved out in early December that I was able to move on, to grieve, and go through an emotional process that was otherwise delayed.
I’m not going to lie — it’s been tough. Just when I begin to think I’m gaining on new ground, I cycle back into the grief that claws at my heart and forces me to take a hard look at reality. Who am I? What do I want? Where am I going. Just your normal existential crap.
Bear with me, reader. As much as it pains me to wallow, wallow I must. For now. Continue reading
It was on Thursday, unable to breathe life back into our partnership and wanting to let it go, that I told K that it was over. The grass of Madison Square Park was the backdrop for our conversation. I just couldn’t go back; the mere thought was a struggle. Instead, focusing on a future where we could still love each other as friends, I chose to spare myself a painful alternative.
K, wrestling with our new reality, emailed me the next day with the question, “Who will we be when when we’re not us?”
The words shot through my already aching heart. Indeed, what identity is forged when a couple ceases to be? Do we revert back to a younger version or do we find ourselves anew, yet feeling strangely lacking?
As K and I slowly navigate the unfolding terrain of our separateness, I am aware that it’s one thing to talk about being done and another to experience it.