Along...

I miss him.  Badly.  There are times, when he's here, I sit and look at him.  I try to do it sometimes when he's unsuspecting.  Other times I just catch his eyes and sigh.

It's weird.  This shift.  This change.  This new old thing.  His persona is so big, it wraps everything in it.  And there are smiles all around.

I am learning to chill about the nights alone.  Learning to hear me in those moments.  To begin truly assessing and emerging from a whirlwind of hate and pain.

I am at the laundromat, listening to him talk.  And fully aware of how his presence comforts me.  We walked, with a million pieces of clothing, tucked in hamper, pillowcases and rucksack.  Kids ahead of us, dollbaby and stroller, race cars in pocket.  We strolled.

And I washed.  He didn't help, and I really didn't want him to, he asked about something and I shooed him off.  When all were dry, and almost all folded, he held the pillowcase for me to stick the last set of things that seemed unending and I packed it all up again to go home.  He once again shouldered the hamper and two pillowcases as I carried the rucksack.  Both kids ahead of us.

My ex-husband's sister passed, hailing the kids.  And taking in the full view of this tattooed, cornrowed, bushy faced man.  And I smiled to myself.  Life has gone on...and I owe them nothing.