The Two Keys

Dear Delyara, For twelve years, we shared a keychain. Now, I’m standing at a new door with a single, shiny key that feels too light in my hand. The silence of this new apartment is terrifying, but it’s also... mine. I’m writing about the death of a "We" and the birth of an "I." It hurts to rip a life in half, but some things have to break so that better things can be built. I am leaving the bitterness of the courtroom here. I am walking into my new living room and I am choosing the color of the curtains. I am starting over.