Playing House

The idea that I'll live out the rest of my life alone makes me profoundly sad.

I feel as though I've reached that moment when you just have to accept the situation for what it actually is. No amount of wishing, hoping, crying, praying, dreaming or anything can change it.

The inevitable finally becomes truth.

I am, and always will be, alone.

And the way I cope with this is to pretend that someone is sharing a life with me.

A little while ago, when I still had teeny bit of hope that things would change, I went out and bought myself a ring. Not just any ring, but the ring I would want to be my engagement ring. The stones aren't real and neither is the metal, but the design is exactly what I'd want.

I thought by having this ring, the vibe will go out across the Universe and land on the man who I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with. And somehow it would speed up the process and he'd get here sooner rather than later.

At home, when I'm feeling alone, I'll slip the ring on my left hand and pretend that Mr. Right had given it to me as the symbol of the love and devotion that he has, and will always have, for me. Only me.

Oh, and I have a matching wedding band too. That was just by chance. I bought a set of 3 eternity rings when shopping the soaps. The "diamond" one matches my engagement ring exactly.

Sometimes I'll be ever so bold as to wear the band in public. And I notice people looking. And what I hope they're thinking is, "She is somebody's wife" or, "Someone must really love her" or even better, "Of course she's already been snapped up. He must be a really lucky guy."

Pretending helps with the crushing weight of the truth.

They say the truth hurts for a reason. Because it does. It hurts wholly and deeply and relentlessly.