I confess, the love I held for my second husband was hot and bright like broken glass on a sunbaked sidewalk. I was the glass. I always thought he was the sun. Turned out, he was the pavement.
I confess, I should never have agreed to exclusivity, much less co-habitation, in this relationship. I thought I'd found a kindred soul. I did. She's also made of tiny bits of glass.
I confess, if (when?
) this burns down, I'm buying some superglue and taking some time to mend the sharp edges.
I confess, I'm just having a pity party today. My whining sounds stale, even to me. Please move along.
