A wave of sadness accosted me this morning on the way to work, which was odd since I started my day out in absolute joy. Funny thing was, I was wide awake long before dawn… around 5:30 am which is a stark contrast for all my other starts. I am so not a morning person so, as I laid there snuggled in the warmth of my blankets, I stared at the clock wondering what on earth woke me up.

There was no answer reverberating in the silence within my room or in the gently falling early winter rains that tickled down my windows. So I closed my eyes to meditate. An hour later, I arose, still refreshed, and showered in stinging hot water, my forehead leaning against the slippery cold tiles.

I am grateful for this hot water. I am grateful for this warm house. I am grateful for my healthy body. I am grateful to be able to hear the water splattering against the tile, pooling and then draining. I am grateful I can see. I am grateful I can smell the tangy citrus of this shampoo. I am grateful I have a job which affords me the ability to buy this shampoo, pay my rent, clothe my body, heat my water.

Such gratitude filled me.

My place was quiet, startling still for the morning as the tranquility of the atmosphere outside crept in through the walls, the ceiling, the windows. There was no boisterous outbursts or bouncing energy springing about my place because my daughter had stayed at her daddy’s house the night before. For a moment, I yearned to hold her, smell her hair, touch her soft skin, look into those innocent blue eyes that are wise beyond comprehension.

Donning my clothes and flicking back wet clumpy strands of my hair, I ventured into the kitchen, hankering for a nice nutritious bowl of Froot Loops. What morning is complete without Froot Loops? I had so much time on my hands that I chose to finish watching the movie I had started late last night, “The Lake House.”

I am captivated by the premise of this show, time folding upon time. And then Sandra Bullock’s character said, “What if there is no One Real Love?”

My heart stopped and I felt a gasp rush through every cell in my body. What if there isn’t?

See, I have to believe there is. I have been alone for almost nine years, by choice, since I took charge of myself, began living for the first time and left my husband. I have to believe that because it is that thought that has kept me going all these years. I have been holding on to the hope, the belief, that my One Real Love is out there.

And now, this morning, on the way to work, my brain teased me saying, “Perhaps it is all a lie, Angie. Perhaps there is no One Real Love. Perhaps you have wasted all these years waiting, hoping, praying and it is all for naught.”

And the sadness crashed over me in a wave, filling my car with the saline scent of my tears.

Please, let it be real. Please… I have to believe it is Real…

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