Question night.

On some level I don’t believe it, can’t believe it, don’t even want to write about it and take that one step closer to admitting that it is true.

I watch the door, thinking she will walk through it, expect to see her truck filling up half of our carport, I can’t come to terms that Piera won’t be at her post on the couch, in our bed, in my life.

Who walks away like this?  Who leaves their toothbrush and their shoes, their bicycles and their protein powder, their alarm clock and their facial cream?  Who steps neatly out of a life that two people built, together?

I don’t know.  And that’s a big part of the question for which right now, there may not be an answer.  Really? (the question goes) – the answer, is obviously, yes.  Yes, or I wouldn’t have been on the biopsy table alone, wouldn’t have spent these nights in tears, wouldn’t even be writing this, right now.  So if really, yes, and it seems like so, then how?  When did it start?  How much of our love was real?  Where was the lie?  What was the mechanics of you walking away, of the toothbrush left in sink and the lonely pillow by the bed?  When did the rot begin and how much of what we built was to last?  Any of it?  None?  Some untrustworthy middle ground in between?

And once through the how and the why and the which was a lie, then who?  You?  How can I trust again, knowing I was so placidly, incredibly, wrong?  Who have I lived with all these years, where is she now, what does that leave me with for a future?  You?  The one I could finally trust, at long last different, done right, in addition to plenty of love, a whole lot of like, you?  YOU?  

On some level I don’t believe it, can’t believe it, life without my Bun, how could this possibly be true?