She asks me "When does it start getting better?"
and I have to answer, with all sincerity, that
"It doesn't get any
better, it just gets
different"
"Well, you seem a lot
happier than when you first came"
She says this, now knowing the circumstances of my arrival
"I've had four years to work on my
facade
four years to adjust and adapt
four years to become accustomed to
different
acclimated is perhaps the better word"
She nods and she sighs
"I can't
trust him anymore. In my gut, I feel it's what I need to do"
I want to tell her it is no
magic pill
I want to tell her that trading in one hand
won't necessarily bring her
a better one
I want to tell her it is merely exchanging
one set of problems for
another
But I don't. Instead, I tell her that
the hardest part
is going it
alone
not just for one night
nor a week nor a month
but for always.
Always alone
At that she smiles, "I can't wait to be alone and get a break from this hell"
Neither could I