This was originally posted on Squishy, in an area for letters unsent and things unsaid. As you can see, at this point people are all telling me the same thing.
I’m posting this here for posterity – someone suggested I keep all my “powerful” (his words, not mine) writing in one easily found area. I don’t know how I feel about being laid so raw to friends, although I apparently felt fine with strangers.
It hurts, and I can’t deny it. It hurts knowing she’s in your bed. And I’m confused; why the hell haven’t you filed those papers? You’ve had them, signed, for over a month. I know you were gone, you went to see her (side trip of your new job, I know) and then were in Calif – but you live downtown, isn’t the courthouse nearby?
I miss you. Are you so sure about this? I’m not. I was hurt at you, but I really don’t think I am anymore. I miss you. I want to click with you again. I want to rest my head in its spot – we always fell together so easily, arms and legs and everything else. Your shoulder was my pillow, and perfectly so.
I miss your smell. I miss your wild foods and bad dinner ideas and crazy impromptu painting sessions.
I wish I could tell you all this, instead of being afraid of being rebuked.
Still your wife,