Everybody else supposedly does this: move on, move forward. I don’t like looking back, but for many years all I did was survive.
She’d stayed awake a long time pondering the rightness of her world that night. Her world. Strange, she’d thought, because she had everything she had ever dreamed of, and more. The stars were aligned, her Prince Charming was still underfoot, and she still wore his promise on her finger.
The storm had passed.
And yet her storm had not yet passed. Her storm, her bitter and cynical and utterly wrong storm had not yet crawled under her skin and stoked wild fire to her core. He’d not yet caused storm after storm after storm of liquid limbs and desperate tears and more of the same, more of the different (especially).
Thought about reviving this blog with some of my other creative “project”, so here is a short story I wrote a couple years ago. Let me warn you in advance: angst seems to be my genre, generally speaking.