The missing muse….
I thought my muse had deserted me. For over a year I haven’t put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, other than at my day job. Then this morning I woke up and this…
It was years before she realized it was the marriage, not the divorce, that broke her. Every time she acquiesced to one of his demands she had lost a bit of who she might have been. Not taking writing class or going out with her friends anymore because he wanted her home in the evenings. The promotions she passed up, the relationships she let slip away, because it would take too much time away from their life together. Always having sex in the same position while he whispered strange, ugly comments in her ear. His odd attraction to granny panties. Victoria Secret had been lost on him. He preferred full coverage briefs that made her feel like someone’s pasta making grandmother.
She told herself it was okay, normal, even good. She told herself she was happy. She took care of him and their home as a good wife should until one day after 25 years he walked into the kitchen and told her over his morning coffee that he was moving to California with the firm’s young receptionist.
And now, here she stood just a few years later, on the brink of something new. She felt as though she was beginning to travel down an unmarked path similar to the one that park rangers always discouraged hikers from following. “Stay on the marked trail”, was the advice she’d always followed. Until today. Today she was about to leap into an unknown forest of possibilities.