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I’m hiding under my comforter hoping the day will slip by unnoticed. It’s a new comforter. Down-filled with a striped duvet and matching shams that ties all of the colors of my sanctuary together. Another attempt to repossess this apartment. To make it mine and only mine. Like the newly organized office and the bookshelves added to display my beloved vases and photos, formerly relegated to lower shelves or crowded cabinets. Or my favorite Klimt piece, Judith II, that now has a place of honor in the hallway, framed by two wrought-iron sconces. He always hated Klimt.

I’m feeling schizophrenic these days. I wake up with panic attacks that choke and gag me until I retch over the toilet. Straightening up, I put on my game face. Stoically brave the day. Taking it minute by minute, hour by hour…time stretching out before me in a seemingly endless succession of ticks and tocks.

I am making a valiant attempt to move on. I am reaching out to others. Friends, casual dates, chance encounters. I have no want of another relationship. My wounds are raw and I can’t lick them clean. My flesh is tender. I can’t talk about him without tears welling in my eyes, my words catching in my throat. I look away. Breathe. Will myself to speak of what has passed.

It is finally, and perhaps blessedly over. I know there will be no turning back now. I know that no matter how much time goes by, things will never change. We will always be the same two people with the same issues. Sparring, clashing, colliding into each other. I take solace in the fact that there is someone out there for me. Eventually. But I tiptoe into the realm of online dating services. The social mixer of the Now Generation. I have barely touched my finger to the water and the fish seem to be leaping into my boat. That boat that rocks and sways and threatens to spill me into another relationship unless I hold steadfast to the splintered wood and maneuver my way through the rapids unscathed. Dry. Safe.

There have been words that reeked of vitriol. So much anger at the fact that I have given up the fight. I couldn’t hold on to a dream that was slipping from my grasp. I had to let it go. That dream was not meant to be. For now my nights are blessedly empty, silent, dark. But today, I pull the comforter over my head and pretend that I’m not here. When I awake, it will be to a new minute, a new hour, a new day.