There was something before him. I wrote everything. I remember half of it. His love – today – does even change the past. Not what happened. But how I relate to it.
It’s less and less painful. I am moving to a place where I know myself better. Where I understand what happened better too.
Fear, it was.
Fear of not being accepted. Not being loved. I mean not being loveable. Or enough. Yes, this is it. These people who drag you down, they see themselves before seeing you. They think they are close to perfection. And you, not. You are millions steps away from it. And their job is to make you better. You should even feel blessed to have crossed their path. This is just bullshit.
So we were fake together. We didn’t work. We were not happy. Obviously. We got together for the wrong reasons. I was looking for recognition. I wanted to be useful. I wanted to count. And I got nothing but poor attention. I couldn’t count cause I wouldn’t match the perfect image of the perfect wife in a perfect mariage.
That’s it. Part of life experiences. I got lucky to escape and start again. It’s like winning the World Cup – I guess. Being able to stop the mess and start on a new track. Better road. Better people. No contest. Just be. Just love. Just live.