Sometimes a “soulmate” is, in fact, a “cellmate.” I spent twenty years in a marriage that, in retrospect, was a sentence.
All stripes, no stars.
The more I gave, the less I received.
I was starving for crumbs of love, begging for a bone.
Any crumbs, any bone.
“Throw me somethin,’ Mister…”
“Please, Mister, please.”
Sadly, I had become accustomed to the emotional starvation diet I was subsisting on, hoping– and assuming– that the real banquet was just around the corner.
I scaled down my expectations, accepting less and less.
A crumb?
“Please, Sir, I want some more.”
My Self was wasting away. I was dying on the vine.
And then he left. For the fourth time.
My crumbs were gone. No bones for me.
I was living in a cell for one. No cellmate, no soulmate.
I filed for divorce, continually hoping he’d come back, offer more crumbs, more bones.
It didn’t happen.
(Thankfully.)
You see, I woke up. I realized I didn’t need a cellmate.
Orange may be the new black, but prison is not the new home-sweet-home.
Cellmate is not the new soulmate.
That was four long, hard years ago. The road to freedom has been arduous.
Today I am thriving, growing, and… free.
Several months ago, a wise friend of mine casually commented, “You know, when he left he gave you a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ pass.”
She was right.
(Word to the wise: having wise friends is a wise move.)
It’s a jailbreak!
(All stars, no stripes!)
And remember: If you die on the vine, no one gets wine…
Cheers!