Imagine someone pushing down on your chest with their feet.
Blunt daggers plunging at your stomach, trying to get out.
Sweat forming in tiny droplets on the back of your knees.
The top of your back as though a kettle has just boiled below it.
All this before opening the front door.
Things had been rather strained, to say the least.
Well, that’s how I felt.
Contemplating if it would be better to walk in expecting a silent brawl or waltz in as though ready to announce wonderful, life changing news?
There is no answer to this question. Even if there were a thousand multiple choice boxes to choose from, not one choice would be suitable.
Despite the torture of recent months and the longing for hours of escape, under the gritty film of tension, every minute was filled with lust and desperation for intimacy that cloaked both our eyes.
We knew we could be happy but through effort and imagination, a monstrous wall of doubt had been erected.
A few weeks passed.
Encompassing a few uneasy get-togethers.
Resulting in sex, both hopeful and confusing
A short holiday, for her, planted seeds of success and failure, for both.
The next few days were spent with eyes fixed on a tiny screen.
My friend listened and asked all the right questions. He understood. Offered clarity.
I rehearsed a thousand times what I should say or do.
I couldn’t decide.
It would be best to simply let it happen.
Over 600 miles, both ways and around ten hours of driving, not including stops.
An early start. I showered and dressed, trying to steady my mind.
I hadn’t slept much after wrestling with thoughts and scenarios.
My car keys held all the hope in the world. My world.
A huge defining click into the ignition.
A solid turn.
My stomach lunged as I pulled out of the drive.
At the end of the road, I turned left.
My route to work.