It’s been two years. Two years since I was physically freed. Freed from what I had emotionally packed my bags from long before.
A single being that had so much mind control, & my emotions hostage, that resulted in terminal dating PTSD. One that repulses me to replay, reminisce on and still fires me up to re-tell those chapters.
A strange addiction.
One that never ignites desire to relive or experience again but the echoing reminder to a starting and ending point of my adolescence.
My firsts to so many emotional staples that confidently will never be unprepared for again.
The previously referenced, Mr. Dangerous, has rendered.
Leading a very different life than his previous resurfaces. A life that does not require my attention for anything positive.
What could he possibly want from me this time?
To gaze into the eyes of this “miracle child?”
The sibling of what fearfully but thankfully was almost ours.
To admire the canary diamonds placed on the “marital finger” of the woman painted in our last convo as the “rebound” to our firm dissipation?
Making peace with your past?
Sure. Already done.
Two years of peaceful silence.
That was mine.
Let us leave it there.