Papers are signed and we’re another step closer to being divorced. Again, for both of us. This will be my second divorce and it will be his as well. I don’t know whether he will ever marry again, live with someone, or even put together a romantic playlist like the one we created when I first moved in with him.

And me? Who am I going to write love letters to? Who would I be willing to give up my job for? Who will be my champion and cheerleader? Will I ever meet someone that really gets me? Someone not scared or suspicious of my tears? Someone that will always know what to say or how to make me feel loved?

I don’t know. Maybe two marriages is enough. I did get two wonderful children from the first, and three other amazing individuals that I still call family from the second. But endings are too painful and most of us don’t go into a marriage thinking it won’t last forever. I want to be in a relationship again, but not just yet. I would like to enjoy a gentleman’s company but I’m sure it wouldn’t surprise you to hear that I’m a little nervous about it. So as I wrote in an earlier post, I’m taking some time with myself. Deciding how I want to spend my days and nights.

Signing our agreement did not feel as I expected it to feel. Too many harsh words have been said, and so many more left unsaid. I was sad, but not overwhelmingly so. I did feel a small rush of satisfaction when I realized I wasn’t crying. We would have celebrated ten years of marriage in a couple of months, and I suppose when our anniversary rolls around in December we will most likely still be married unless the courts move much quicker than they normally do.

I am thankful that I have so many happy memories of the eleven years we spent together. We had a good marriage, until we didn’t.