I have started to realise what makes me so angry now. Not often but sometimes. It’s that I knew for a long time deep down that you didn’t love me enough, that our relationship wasn’t to you what it was to me. So instead of being brave enough to leave you for myself, I buried myself in love for you and your kids. I hoped that you would one day walk in the door a different person and ask me to marry you or something, and it makes me squirm to realise that I had so convincingly deluded myself. So that’s my fault. Staying and trying to force love and commitment out of you was a disaster and that’s my fault. It doesn’t stop me missing you though. Standing in our house with my eyes closed imaginging the sounds of your children and you. I love those kids and for the rest of my life that is something I will not get over, even though I know I will get over you.
I try hard not to think of our time as a waste, even when I am paralysed with the fear of never marrying, never having my own kids. One of us should have ended it sooner, but one day I will only remember the fun times, the times of real love.
Until then, look after the babies, the ones I love as my own, the ones who will never remember who I am and how much I love them.