When my marriage ended on the day that I began my new job I assumed the two would be forever linked in my mind, one as indelibly marked by the other as a heavy pen mark on a blotter pad. What I remember most about those first awful days and weeks was the overwhelming sorrow I felt, the aching emptiness. Time ceased to have relevance to anything but the past: I spent each day surrounded by ghosts.
Was it resilience or just my unwillingness to let people get too close that allowed me to right things so quickly? I don't kid myself that I've fully recovered - the only certain test of that will be the next time a relationship begins to get serious - but Katka's effect on my life as a whole seems no more permanent than a footprint in the snow. It doesn't feel as if I've re-adjusted to my solitary lifestyle: I can hardly remember what it felt like to be with her; it's as if I've always lived alone.
I think about this now as that new job becomes an old one. This time I feel a very different kind of sadness.
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