Divorce is a muddled muttered mantra of repeated regret.
Divorce is a long dark lonely road to nowhere, inevitably heading somewhere, albeit only god-knows-where.
Divorce is an explosion, one of such great magnitude that it must, of necessity, result in the complete and singular destruction of all-things.
Divorce is likewise an explosion, one of such great magnitude that it must, of necessity, leave behind only a charred remnant of annihilated particles*.
* These particles, it is hoped, may one day coalesce into some new format, fused under duress into a thing radically regenerated and fundamentally evolved.
* These particles, it is hoped, may one day coalesce into some new format, fused under duress into a thing radically regenerated and fundamentally evolved.
I conferred what feels as if it could be one of the last physical reminders (that and this apparently indelible and resistant-to-all-lasers ring-finger-tattoo on my left hand) of my now defunct marriage to the good folks at the bike shop this week.