The end of the beginning

Sometimes, typically during a new moon, I stare at the sky and feel so fucking small and insignificant. I stare and intently ask the stars how I am expected to reach them when there’s so much distance between us. What I’ve been slowly learning is that I’m not expected to reach them at all because they aren’t meant for me. They could never be mine because they are yours. Mine are down here within reach.

I’m tired of being distracted by yours. I want mine. I have no fucking clue what they are. That alone is pitiful. However, what really grinds my gears is that I’m almost 40, and I don’t even know what they look like. Full disclosure, that pisses me the fuck off. But. I know now what they aren’t. Changes are coming and they’re coming fast. It’s terrifying and painful, but I know in the very fabric of my being I’m doing what’s right. Your stars are great, and I almost wish they were mine. But they aren’t, and they never will be. Someday I might be able to convince myself that’s okay.

It’s happening this week. I already let Squish know that I made the decision, and I can’t have her walking around with that info very long or it would be awkward. It’s a shitty thing to burden someone with, and if she wasn’t so freaking smart, I wouldn’t have said anything until after. It’s almost better this way because now I HAVE to do it, and get it over with. I really don’t want to have this conversation. I really don’t want to hurt him, but I keep telling myself that I’m hurting him now because I can’t love him the way he needs anymore, and I’m just keeping him from someday finding someone who can and wants to. Sigh. Welcome to The Not-Okay-Corral.