Chaos & Clarity

Divorce.

Such a nasty fucking word. There was a time when marriage sounded like a foreign concept to me. Even the idea of dating a girl seemed an impossibility. I wasn’t made to love and hold. That is, until I met my girl. I fell so fucking deep and so fucking hard, there was no way I was ever coming up again. Not that I wanted to and not that I have. I will love her forever. No doubt about it.

It doesn’t matter, though. My love alone is not enough. For a while I thought it was. During those two blissful wedded years, I got comfortable with the idea of our everlasting marriage.

Fuck was I wrong. It’s my fault, of course, and that’s not some self-pitying bullshit. It’s the truth. I fucked up again. Big time. There’s no fixing it. I know that because if it were the other way around, I could never forgive her. The only thing that I can do is to give her what she wants. Unfortunately, what she wants is the complete opposite of what I want, because what she wants is divorce. She wants to be free of me, and as a final act of love, I will grant her that.

I’m about to puke my heart out. I feel so fucking sick. What can I do, though? I fought for her and it resulted in nothing. There’s no way back. However badly I fucked up, she made sure a happy ending is no longer an option.

My heart hardens and I make use of the moment by grabbing the stack of divorce papers. I don’t care to read the conditions. She can have it all. She already has.

With a trembling hand, I scribble my signature on the dotted lines and watch my teardrops bleed with the ink.