I think of the person in question tonight and suddenly sadness sets in...I think of him being lonely (something personal really hit home with it) and I remember how happy he seemed so often with me. I remember how his face lit up like a Roman candle when he saw me dressed nicely for our first simple, sweet date for tea. And now all that is gone...that is the bald fact I wake to every day. I look into what his own loneliness might be and cry. Is that what he really wanted, after all? Did he want to cause all this heartbreak? He gave it all up for some phantom with no basis in reality at all. Why do people do this? You can't just revel in the way you detonated things...keep doing that and you will be left with a pile of rubble your whole life.
This is the time when I have to gather up all this sadness and place it in the process of writing this book. How did Asha feel, having to go off from the husband she loved and her marriage, at least for a little while, to try and sort things out? Was she ever scared, not really knowing who had fathered her baby? Did she, with her music degree, dream of something a little larger for herself down the road, even as she raised her baby, because her entire life was ahead of her?
I have to take a breather tomorrow in the morning and go work on my house. And then, more writing.
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