It seems like my own heart has only recently recovered from the trauma of divorce and now just as the word "love" has worked its way back into my vocabulary, I find myself speechless with melancholy. I don't want to talk to anyone or go out. I don't feel like tackling any serious writing projects. My kumquat and lemon trees are waiting to be transplanted into their nice big pots and I don't have any energy for the project. I feel like I'm waiting too, but I don't know for what. My own roots don't know whether to wind themselves into a little ball or reach out for deeper soil.
The trick with all this is that I blame it on the divorce. I catch myself grumbling that if my husband hadn't left me, life would be good. But life wasn't good when we were married either. I was living with a man who didn't want to be with me. I spent less time with him than I spend with the man I'm dating.
I hate it when I lie to myself.