I cried before our first date, at the time I wasn't sure why. After speaking with him about a meeting place, I succumb to gentle sobs in the drivers seat of my car. "This will never succeed," my intuition spoke to me. I didn't want to believe it, so I cried, gathered my composure, and met him at the state capital. After a half hour of laying on the roof of my car staring at the stars, he came walking briskly toward me, smiling, smelling of smoke and deodorant. Damp with sweat when he hugged me, I could feel the ribs of his frail figure, his heart beating quickly underneath them.
Nearly two years from the night he first penetrated my soul, our daughter emerged from the same point with more passion and light than any facet of our relationship ever possessed. She represents truth and strength, the opposite of him, of us. She came into the world surrounded by strong, intelligent, beautiful women with purpose, destined to become one herself. There is an old saying "A man dies, a child is born." In this case, a section of myself had to die to move successfully to a more positive direction. The part of me that panders and offers compassion to what can only be described as a lost cause and waist of my good intentions. Each favor offered is extended to capacity and ultimately regretted. I don't condone regret, nor do I enjoy feeling taken advantage of, which is why I must shed this piece of myself and move toward the life of manifested happiness and miracles my daughter and I rightly deserve.
If there is one thing pregnancy has taught me, it is that what is good is worth working for and what is right is not always easy. Though our relationship certainly had it's charms and perks, it was positively one-sided. It won't be easy, and it will certainly have it's complications, but letting go of this aberrant partnership is a necessary step toward rediscovering and redefining myself as a powerful woman; a mother.