The day after D-day things were the same everywhere else but not deep within me. The sun rose, the sun set. Coffee steamed, wine satisfied. But I couldn’t or wouldn’t see it.
The day after D-day, it seemed to me that the safety of the typical had violently rejected me. Or was it, I was rejecting it? For looking back with some clarity, I didn’t care if the sun rose or set. To my taste buds all coffee was bitter, all wine had turned to vinegar.
The day after D-day and every day forward I found that I must remind myself that I would survive the fact that infidelity had muscularly contracted against my understanding of reality. That it had violently pushed it out of the warm womb and through a haunting canal, creating in me, confusion and fear of the unknown.
The day after D-day I laid prone, all alone, no longer two as one, birthed by the truth of her lies.
The day after D-day my eyes were forced wide open to a blurry view of a new, unimaginable reality. An existence I had not agreed to. One in which, at 1st, I wailed against, wanting to return to what was. I flailed my arms and feet into the unfamiliar, unable to grasp my new reality nor able to run from it.
The day after D-day I couldn’t comprehend that there would come a willingness to give up the natural desire to return to the womb. That there would be a time when I would welcome my stumbles and falls. And despite the tears I’d embrace the drive to get up again and again and again. It was then and only then that I learned I could walk alone, or as two, upright with confidence.
The day after D-day is not the end of all days to come. There will be a day, whether one changes brands or not that once again the coffee will steam, and wine will satisfy.
