last night (or rather this morning if you want to be technical) i climbed into bed to discover that my pillow smelled like him.

guilt surges up, that feeling ingrained in me since youth by my mother. guilt laced with loneliness, and the feeling that despite all the other problems there was still a certain intangible goodness to waking up into loving arms. if that was all it had been, warm arms and sleepy mornings, then it could have been perfect and gone on forever that way.

and guilt again, as if i am not allowed to feel the slightest twinge of pain.

and while i feel i made the right decision . . . i hate the consequences