Aching

 I wish I could explain the way I feel. I am laying in bed aching inside. We are moved in and there is left to do is unpack and find places for everything that will not fit. I am full of regrets. I feel homesick. That was our home. I am longing and mournful for all the firsts in the house. I feel lost and like a stranger here. Funny because this is now the third time I have lived here. I want to cry. I can feel the tears, and hate that they are there. I am shameful of them and don’t want to put the burden of them in my husband. It is my turn to be aware that it will become far too easy for him to be put in the middle. 

My eyes are betraying me, releasing my tears as I think of all the things I want to say. And I am becoming aware of things that I never thought I would feel. Ashamed that essentially we have moved back home, and that is my fault. I have failed to contribute my part. It’s another thing to hate myself for. I hope it passes soon. 

Salem is happy here. And maybe even Ian too, but it is hard to say.