Independence Day

Five years ago this night I was sleeping my first night alone in the little cabin on Lazy Mountain, Diva and Courtney a few miles down the road at George and Becky's kennel while I spent several days getting things unpacked and ready for their arrival. I've made a lot of painful mistakes in my life before and since, but the end of that relationship with a fundamentally dishonest man sure isn't one of them. I used to think that I was sorry that he was the one who had to end it through (another) betrayal instead of me being the one who left, but that is so insignificant. Who can be sorry for getting one's own life back? I remember little about the leavetaking part - it was a bitter day (single digits) and the moving men made me laugh by telling me "You're too good for him." One of them had forgotten to bring gloves, and when I went up to ask Jim whether I could borrow a pair and I said I'd be sure they didn't get taken, he said "It's okay. I trust you" and I thought with some amusement that that was pretty effin ironic.

You Must Accept
by Kate Light

You must accept that's who he really is.
You must accept you cannot be his
unless he is yours. No compromise.
He is a canvas on which paint never dries;
a clay that never sets, steel that bends
in a breeze, a melody that when it ends
no one can whistle. He is not who
you thought. He's not. He is a shoe
that walks away: "I will not go where you
want to go." "Why, then, are you a shoe?"
"I'm not. I have the sole of a lover
but don't know what love is." "Discover
it, then." "Will I have to go where you go?"
"Sometimes." "Be patient with you?" "Yes."
"Then, no."
You have to hear what he is telling you
and see what he is; how it is killing you.