Surviving

Sitting out on the deck in the dark. Remembering a night almost ten years ago. July 2004. The night Larry finally moved out. I rushed to change the locks, and then I sat alone in the dark on the patio, and I called Brian. We talked and listened to the thunder.

There was so much hope, so much promise. I had such a sense of relief. I had survived.

And tonight I sit alone and listen to the crickets. Lola is lying at my feet, happily dozing. She feels safe.

I'm trying so hard to remember how I felt that night.  I've survived once more, but there is no relief. No promise. No safety. The solitude offers no comfort, but it has become familiar.

I've learned so much and so little in ten years. Everything changes; everything remains the same.