7 Affirmations to Improve Your Business by Sharon Vander Meer

7 Affirmations to Improve Your Business If I was 12 inches taller I’d be skinny How many times have you looked in the mirror and found a flaw? If you say never, good grief, what planet do you live on? Most of us are self-critical, sometimes to the point of being oblivious to what makes […]

via WRITE STUFF: Give Yourself a Gold Star — One Roof Publishing Magazine

To Watch Him Leave

I’d be a fool to say I didn’t know it was coming.  Something this perfect couldn’t have lasted.  I just didn’t expect it to come so soon.

I watched as he put his belongings into a bag.  As one item, and another item, disappeared from our lives together, I felt my chest tighten. He was packing the most fragile pieces of my heart.

He said it wasn’t because he’d found someone else.  He said he wasn’t happy, and that I was the only person who’d given him a shred of hope for a good life when he moved to Texas for work.  His contract ended, and he said I wasn’t enough to sustain a life outside of the world he grew up in. He said people were different back home. He said there he knew a different kind of happiness. He said I wouldn’t fit in.

He was my happiness.

With a packed bag over his shoulder and his back to me, I thought I heard pain in his voice. “I want you to know that you own a very deep and personal part of my heart.  You always will. But, I don’t love you the way you need me to. I’m sorry.”

Through watery eyes, I tried to memorize every last detail about the man I’d vowed to love forever. I knew I’d never see him again.

My knees couldn’t withstand the heaviness of my heart, and I fell to the ground.  I dug my nails into the carpet and looked up at the ceiling. I begged, “Please God, help me.”

The Wrong Time


Alarm clock, off.  One foot in front of the other, just like the doctor said. I shower, brush my teeth, look in the mirror, and hate myself. Twenty-three hours and nineteen minutes left in the day.

I get dressed, microwave a breakfast heart attack, and turn over an empty bottle of depression meds. Shit, not good.  Five months of refills and the pharmacy doesn’t open until 8 a.m. when I need to be at work. I hate that job and everything about it.  Why did they hire me for customer service?  I don’t sound happy. I’ve never sounded happy because I’ve never been happy. I hate the fake chit-chat, the “How are you doing?” every Godawful morning without a second’s wait for my answer, though I never respond.

I start my walk. My pharmacy is a block from work.  I’ll clock in late at 8:10 a.m., someone will notice, and they’ll tell the boss I’m slacking again.  I’m always screwing up somehow.

I pass Rusty’s Drinkery. Good thing it’s not open this early – Jack Daniels is a great kisser.

I feed my brain its anti-depressant and start the path to paycheck Hell.  I make it two steps, and I see the exterior of my building rupture into a tidal wave of glass and fire. Blood claws at the sky, and I shield my eyes from the smoke and death.  No one survived that.

Jealousy burns inside of me. Of all mornings, I had to run out of meds today.

The Drive

I didn’t actually intend on getting out for a drive that day; it just sort of happened. Lost in thoughts and stories and dreams of a different life, I’d like to say I tried to stop, but I won’t lie.

Yes, I saw him.  He stood on the side of the road, arms in the air, telling me to slow down. I didn’t dare meet his gaze. Just a few miles up, again he stood, red-faced and angry. With a clenched fist he shouted, “Stop everything! Think about this! Don’t you go any farther!”

He told me turn around. He told me to take another route.  He pointed out a safer road, but I knew that road would only lead me back to him. Each time he appeared, my white-knuckled fingers gripped the steering wheel harder, and I drove faster.

I pressed hard on the pedal, and with each added bit of pressure, fewer signs appeared on the long, sustaining road, and the less I saw his face.

“This road is no good for you! It’ll never bring you back to me,” I could hear him say.  His head hung low. He knew defeat sat waiting at the next intersection.

My sharp gaze down the center white lines softened, and I saw clouds open to reveal a final exit sign. It was my last chance to turn around. So, I kept going.