You'll now find cowboy boots, Copenhagen, and a truck parked outside.
For those of you that know what this mean, you'll understand why I've been MIA. I'm working so very hard to make things normal and get back into the swing of things. Whatever the hell normal may be.
He left three years ago, about this time of year, and the circumstances for our parting...fucking sucked. Things turned wrong somehow, and that meant that being apart was better than being together for him. And that thought kills me. Everything about it just sucked, and I wonder quite often if there will ever be a time that I can think back on it all and not feel ill. Not about what happened, or the choices that I had to make, but that those choices caused him to leave.
And there's him, himself. All 30 years of stubborn and set in his ways. 30 years of morals that shoves shades of gray into black and white boxes. Words that make me think there is no hope, that I am utterly insane, and looks that make me know that in the end, I'm fucking right. That we're fucking right, and that he is just going to have to learn to accept it. And one day he will, right? Right? He has to, because that is what has kept me going these past three years. My husband, that thought, and my own very special brand of stubborn that knows that this will work.
I might not fully understand what it is about him that is so vital to me, and I do not think I need to. All I know is that together the three of us are invincible. And I feel content, and safe in ways I can't fully express in words.