Even though I left and divorced Leo - my heart has yet to process and reconcile the end of my marriage. Despite all that I know about him now - I cannot find Him in the shattered pieces of us. I’ve tried to write our final chapter - but words fail me. Leo remains the one story of my life that I cannot write. I am frozen in our stillness staring at the empty space where we once lived - wondering, what happened here? Did we even exist? We did - even if for him I was a planned affair doomed from the start - one that would leave a stake through my heart.
I collect pieces of our remains the way one wades through ash in a burnt down house after a fire had raged through. This search for reason and meaning to us is futile - I know - no aspect of our life is retrievable. Yet there are days when I find a piece of us in a memory tucked away and I wonder who Leo is and where he’s gone. A thought that brings to mind an image of the old, homeless woman he painted - forever staring at the world - with misery reflected in her eyes.
“There is no starting over, only getting up to begin again,” - Leo Christopher -