It has been a while since I last wrote.
When I get busy I tend to hide and by that I mean completely disappear and leave my true self standing alone, waiting at a bus stop in the pouring rain, feet feeling soggy in velvet shoes and hair hanging heavy against my cheeks.
That is how I feel, when all I do is work. When all I do is exist as a care partner and not as the lover, or the wife, or even the best friend.
I crave a need to fly to somewhere glorious, wear red and sip Merlot. A man once promised to take me to Vienna to hear music. He died instead. When I got engaged for the first time, in Paris, the moment was tainted by drunk rude group at the next table and my future husband getting frustrated that he was being charged for the champagne. When I got engaged for the second time, my future husband was sad to realize he was in the wrong restaurant and not the one his Mum had given him the gift certificate for.
Why do I mention this? As an example of looking in and never entering because I feel I do not deserve.
Promises are excuses for not doing now.
Yep, I'm tired, a touch on the bitterness side of the martini glass. There are days when I feel like I have been around for eighty or ninety years and that I have not done a damn thing.
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