She asks me "When does it start getting better?"
and I have to answer
, with all sincerity, that
"It doesn't get any better
, it just gets different
"Well, you seem a lot happier
than when you first came"
She says this, now knowing the circumstances of my arrival
"I've had four years to work on my facade
four years to adjust and adapt
four years to become accustomed to different
is perhaps the better word"
She nods and she sighs
"I can't trust
him anymore. In my gut, I feel it's what I need to do"
I want to tell her it is no magic pill
I want to tell her that trading in one hand
won't necessarily bring her a better one
I want to tell her it is merely exchanging one set
of problems for another
But I don't. Instead, I tell her that the hardest part
is going it alone
not just for one night
nor a week nor a month
but for always. Always alone
At that she smiles, "I can't wait to be alone and get a break from this hell"
Neither could I