I don't kiss and tell. But to you, I tell everything. Maybe I should start at the end, instead of the beginning. Tell you how I lost my marriage but found myself in the process. I'd prefer to hide behind fiction, coward that I am. The truth begs to be told. Pain sometimes simmers, floats around and waits. Once it decides it can't be ignored it will seep out of you at every opportunity. Be the butter on your toast. The song that repeats in your head. Eventually though, the story must be written. And if you're really brave, shared.