I know. I know, this blog is supposed to be about peace and writing. But when you have a break-up, it’s hard to think about caring for the world. The world gets smaller until it’s just you and the guy.
And the words.
And the hurt.
And the regrets.
In the end, what hurts the most? Last night he said, “I’m not into the red carpet life.”
Writing is one big red carpet? Where has he been these last two years?
I only saw the tan carpet under the couch I’ve sat on, computer in my lap. My classroom’s rug is speckled grey and turquoise. The book store where I signed copies of Forest Secrets had industrial brown.
No red anywhere.
Except maybe down my throat with the lump I’ve had since last night. You know what really hurts is that after two years, he still doesn’t understand. Doesn’t get that writing is how I make meaning in my life, and publishing is a way to share myself with the world. I’m looking to see if a little part of me moves a little part of others. It’s my way of saying, Here I am. I see you. Do you see me?
In the end, he just didn’t.