New Year

New Year
We met on Match.com. I told friends we met in a dog park because I was afraid to be honest. Most fifty year old plus people on match aren’t looking for a relationship, they allow the sea of attention to fill a birdbath the size of the Pacific Ocean called a heart. No, that sounds bitter, there are nice people on there, I didn’t chat with them.
You know an adult relationship isn’t advancing when the other party fails to introduce you to their children or include you on holidays or is often sick at the last minute. Four years of caring wore on my boots, they have holes and leak now. New riding boots need softening. Step on summer rocks and frozen puddles makes the leather fit around your bad toes. The nail of the big toe becomes ingrown from repeated pounding. It’s not the climb uphill that breaks a soul, it’s the down curves where sliding on clay kills.
I know myself. It’s been a long time arriving. Butterfly lighting is a trick to make a portrait flattering. I recite poetry in the cabin, say the rosary to the cows bellowing on the hillside while I garden, and I no longer wear makeup on the weekends or spend money on packaged beauty products. Rose petals, lavender pods and organic herbs are in my secret creams.
Not caring started after I caught you cheating. Your stool was too close to her in the bar. She sent me nasty messages and hacked several places I frequent. You cried. Things were better for a moment, then returned to amusement park physics. Everyone told me to give it up. But I am no quitter.
When I lied to myself about the joy verses pain scale I decided your dip in dots were too expensive and I am cheap. I don’t feel better about myself, I know in the future this opens a place for a partner to come in who treasures me. Time doesn’t heal, don’t let them tell you that garbage. Our minds play tricks to create new wiring and life circuits are busy.
 I hold you in highest regard and wish you well.
This New Year is a start. Time for me to take care of myself.