It’s a cold, cold time
It’s a cold, cold time
And it makes me wonder
If I’ll ever forget how cold I, how cold I
And the world can be
And the line gets drawn
And we draw the line
And we say it’s only the business of things
How can it be, how can it be
When it’s you and me
I can’t live in the past
Hard shelled and moving fast
Change is the race car of time
Everyone nods along
I have done nothing wrong
And it feels like a crime
And it’s a bright new day
It’s a bright new day
And the crazy thing is
That I wish my old friend
Would say that it’s fine
Say I’ll be fine in a cold, cold time
It’s the 10th of June. It should be hot and sunny, but instead, a cover of clouds is lightly spitting. I’ve just had coffee with my old friend who also happens to be my ex-sister in law. Our connection feels neglected, like so many other once-dear things I’ve left behind on the cul-de-sac.
We try to keep it light, bring each other up-to-date, but it’s not the same. There is a gap between us. I’m the friend who married her husband’s brother. I’m the woman who cheated on him, and destroyed our family.
In my naivete, I thought we could maintain some normalcy, that Friday night fire pits would continue, that my ex husband and I could be in the same space, moving forward in opposite directions. But in the months since the divorce, seven now, he’s continued to harass me, to threaten me, to supeona me. So, no, there is no happy medium here, no same as it ever was. It’s the business of things. The past thirty years count for nothing between him and me. And that strain is palpable in my friend’s coffee chat. We’re decidedly not dipping beneath the surface.
I keep telling myself I have done nothing wrong, and yet, sitting outside at this wrought iron cafe table, feels like I’ve committed a crime. I wish my friend would absolve me. He cheated too–with his work, his news watching, his turning to Jesus. Her absolution doesn’t come.
I am trying to forgive myself, learn to see the gifts in all of this. But it’s not a bright new day. It’s gray. I am chilled. And the rain on my face doesn’t feel like rebirth. It feels like I’m drowning.
mindful musings 