I've only truly been in love once. The trouble was it didn't appear until late in life and when it did I suddenly realised what an awful sham everything else had been.
Awkward.
Especially as (a) I was married to somebody that I couldn't think of a good reason to not be married to and (b) I was about to embark on a massive life change. It was a bit like the first time you hear a live performance and feel the music and know everything else was just a precursor at best.
So I put the change on hold as I knew that there was something more important.
Then there wasn't. The reality is I always knew this was never going to be more than just a glimpse of would could have been. I hoped, but was realistic.
And then, like Saint Elmo's fire, it was gone. It took time to adjust, to accept. A long time. And there was even one last moment of sublime humiliation before I could say...
It's time to change.
So I placed my heart in a box, tied memories with a ribbon and embraced my future. Whatever it would be.
I can't say it's ideal, I'm still in love for a start, but that's changed form, it's just deeply caring and hoping desperately for somebody else's happiness.
Surely that's the best way to be?
Ultimately I'm scared about my journey, but I also can't see a reason to go back.
Onwards.
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