There are good parts to going through the arduous process of single filing. In baby steps, I make my way back towards the market with a casual flirt, a lingering glance and with the surprise at feeling my head turn, almost naturally sometimes, as something pleasing meets my eye. But this is not an amicable separation. I cannot ignore the bitterness of silent fights, the immaturity of catty games, or the trust betrayed with the realisation that the time spent getting to know one another has led to the ruthless discovery of which hit hurts the most. This is what divorce feels like: liberation and ugliness combined.
And yet, I almost wish it were as simple as squabbling over paperwork. If it were so, Lol would still be here: walking, talking, feeling and listening, alive in this world. But there is no trace left of the man I love. I could not watch him slowly walk away, making his way into the horizon for he chose to jump off the edge of the earth instead. Suddenly, so quickly that no one saw until long after it happened. And so I mourn the death of the man I knew as I find myself tied up in legalities with a stranger
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