“But now — I am not a writer now. I am not anything now. Legally I am a ‘widow’ — that is the box I must check. But beyond that — I am not sure that I exist.” Joyce Carol Oates, A Widow's Story
This is exactly how it feels. Something old and something blue versus something old and new. I feel as though I am something borrowed--from a horror film--every time I look in the mirror. I am Munch's Scream.
Thank you for remembering me after all these years. Thank you for believing that I'm worth the wait. Thank you for hoping that maybe means may be.
It definitely isn't no.
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