5 years.

It should get easier. Or more tolerable. Or you hope that you just become desensitized to it all.

Anything to help cope with it.

But instead, after five years, I still come home crying and breaking down. I still fear that I’ll never get the chance. I fear that I have to come to terms with that before I even get the chance to try. No matter what, by the time we save enough, I’ll be too old. And I’ll have to try to survive without the only thing I ever dreamed of. The one thing missing from the puzzle.

I never dreamt of travel. I’m a homebody, content to stay home. I never dreamt of having all the money in the world. I just want to live comfortably. But I did dream of this and only this. Yet it’s just not in the cards for me.

That’s what I cry about. That’s why it’s so hard for me to get dressed and ready for work today. That’s why I’ll try to hide from everyone at work. I don’t want them to see my puffy, bloodshot eyes. I don’t think I can handle any answer to their concerned questions without crying again. And they will ask, trust me, cause my co-workers are sorta awesome like that. We look out for each other. Some of them are dear friends. But I just don’t have it in me to answer their questions or see them look at me with concern on their face. I’ll simply start crying again.

Hell, I told myself I won’t go downstairs until I stop crying and I’m still sitting on my bed. Rory and Abigail haven’t left my side.

I really wish I had personal days that I could use to call off today. Today is a personal day kind of day and I just can’t bring myself to face the world.

I just don’t want to face the world.

Not yet.