After my marriage ended, I started journaling to try and process the pain and listlessness I was experiencing. I chose a few entries to include a free zine titled Letters I Wrote in the Dark.

It's a personal account, and I hope it might provide comfort or understanding to others going through similar experiences. Here's one of the entries...

Tending Both Flames

February 26, 2025

All I feel when we talk is sadness. On our last call, I cried off and on the entire time. She told me how nice it is to be single, how easy it is to ignore her "problems," how freeing it is not to think about me.

During meditation today, the tears came again. She's like a whole new person; one with no memory of our marriage.

My inner child isn't happy with her. He never will be. But I wish he was. I'd give anything for him to feel joy with her. Sometimes I peek at him in glimpses when I'm waking, or meditating.

But he doesn't come out when she's around. Not anymore.

Yet still, I cling. Why do I cling? Hoping she'll revert to who she used to be. Hoping she'll try again. But trying again is like attempting to reignite a drenched campfire. No matter how much fuel or warmth I can offer, the spark is gone.

Ashes blow away, and I desperately chase them on the breeze. I'm chasing dust and soot as daylight fades and darkness swallows the land. I'm failing to tend my own fire and it dims, neglected, because I'm so preoccupied with hers. The one I scared away, the one that disappeared into the night.

I can't tend both flames. My own diminishes every time I try.

If you're interested in reading a few other entries that were part of this process, I'll link to it in the comments below.