Having two of me is still better than having none.
April, 2012 - one me barelled off into a different dimension. My first daughter exists there, and that me is holding her, watching her grow and learn. I am happy and life continued on the path I had begun.
The other me, the empty one, the imposter, rests stagnating in this dimension. "Even in empty arms, I feel the weight of you." Directionless, hard headed, determined to never be too happy without her. Determined to bear out the consequences to my actions.
2016 - One me barels off out the door. Shedding my life like an old, scratchy, tight skin that can no longer contain the massive self that has swollen within it. Poised to run. Ready to go. Anywhere.
The other me, the empty one, relaxes into the familiar role. The martyr. The sacrificer. The bitter taste on my tongue is tempered by the repeated reminder that it's acceptable, what I deserve, what I beckoned. What I invited into my home like a blood sucker with a face like justice.
But, two mes is better than none.
I am a woman out of sync.
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