He never thought he would be here, at a place such as this, though he never thought he would do a lot of things that he did, so who's to say this was an exception. Maybe him thinking this was for the fact that he wasn't<em>supposed</em>to be here, in a place like this, well, that was what the priest told him, what his ex wife told him. She made a promise to him, that he'd never be here, she looked him in the eyes, while making a promise—the promise to have and to hold from that day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from that day forward until death do they part—place the band on his finger, and they both sealed it with a kiss. Well, he wasn't dead, and nether was she, so why was he<em>here</em>. He blamed her for being here, though in all technicalities, it was her fault for being here, but maybe it was his too; he treated her well, he loved her back, and there was no infidelity within the marriage, well, not on his part, he was sure of, so why did it go so wrong?<br/><br/>He should have seen this coming, actually, she kvetch about how she didn't like that he quit his job to pursue his writing dream, or that he would spent a good portion of the paycheck on his muse, she would always remind him of how strange his stories were, and how sad and pathetic it was that he wrote them. He wrote children books, not the novels that the children of today was accustomed to, but the books that parents would read to the child at night, or even just to past the time while they sat at a cozy comfortable place. He quit his job for that, and that's how his ex wife said it, but with more of a scoffing and satire question like tone.<br/><br/>Of course he back talked her, said she should be happy that her job now held some form of prestige—did anyone know that a telemarketer could get so pissy? Well they can, and they can also kick you out of the house... well, if you lived with one; good thing is that they let you back in, but not before burning your shit. At least she didn't get his muse, or his pages, he didn't know what he'd do if she did that. Well, obviously that last saying was a threat, or so she said in court; she used a lot of things in court, his drastic job switch, his muse, his chauvinist thoughts—was it wrong to want a wife that didn't have to hold the pressure of work on her shoulders?<br/><br/>He was completely respectful about it, it's not that he wanted his women barefoot, naked, and over a stove making his dinner, he was just raised in a household with a mother who made sure the house didn't fall apart, papered his lunch, and kept him in line half the time, with a father who handled the work and made sure they were able to live comfortable. His mother could pick up a job at anytime—especially with her English degree—but she felt that no job meant more time with her children, was it biased to adapt the same life style? Well, he guess he didn't have to, now that the tables were turned and he was a househusband—though that pissed her off too—she says that it was only a man's way of being lazy.<br/><br/>He couldn't forget the real reason why it was his fault—of course above was not his imputation—she knew from when they met, in the cafe, ten years ago of his dreams, of what he wanted in a wife, and what his future job would be, but obviously none of that matter after they married, but they managed to ignore it—he couldn't say work through it, because an agreement was never made. No, the reason she finally filed for a divorce was because of the little trip he decided to take... without her... for six months.<br/><br/>One day, they got into an argument, this one was not about the bills, or how his papers were taking over the floor in their bedroom, or even his muse, it was about children, and why she didn't want any. “Why would I need children when I have<em>you</em>?” if it sound romantic, it wasn't, she was referring to his “callow” behavior, well, at least she didn't say “Who needs kids when they're married to Peter Pan.” which is the statement she'd use whenever he's asked before. She'd pull out her birth control, look him in the eyes, and say it, shortly after popping it into her mouth. But he'd rather have the “Peter Pan” comment than the “you” one, because when she said “you”, in that tired, annoyed, satire tone she acquired over the years, it hurt more, it felt like she was tired of him, annoyed of him,<strong>regretful</strong>of<em>him</em>.<br/><br/>So when night fell, he put on some clothes, collected his many papers, grabbed<em>all</em>of his muse, took his best shoes, along with five hundred dollars, and let his legs do the work, so two cab, one phone call, and a plan ride later, he found himself searching for his soul deep down in Hawaii with the natives. Boy did that get his wife going! First day she didn't call, but when it struck twelve, his cellphone was suddenly blasting with calls, filling up with messages, but he answered none and erased each. It took ten days to give up, ironic how it matched her love for him; what he was most shock about was that it took six months for a lawyer to come knocking on the door of his beach cottage to give him the papers on his divorce.<br/><br/>So here he was, in a place he never thought he'd be, it felt a little strange, and to be honest a little depressing, it kept reminding him of reality, that this was really true. It hurt to know it was real, but he allowed his body to move on it's own, his eyes moved back and forth, surveying the room and the words in front of him, his mouth twitched in an attempt to smile, but smiling needed his attention, and that was something he didn't own right now. He didn't realize his fingers was moving until he hit the “<strong>SUBMIT</strong>” button. Well, it was done, and now all he had to do was wait.<br/><br/><em>'Dear Trojan Queen,<br/><br/>It's okay to be shy, it makes people want to figure you out, like a mystery novel, and the people you meet are the detective, as you probably can tell, I have a passion in storytelling, so your already calling out to me. Happy year early birthday, don't worry, I will be forty five next year, so your not the oldest here, and neither am I! I am sorry to hear about you niece, I feel happy that you are there for her even through her condition, so you should feel great, not many people can handle such a horrible situation, and I'm sorry your husband was one of them.<br/><br/>You speak of karma? A subject that has fell into many of my writings, it is an interesting thing, no? Karma is always confused as a punishment for past actions, but others don't notice that it can also be just a harsher path to good things, the path is made difficult because our bodies and mind or weaken by these bad actions that caused karma to rise, and we can only strengthening it by traveling through an obstacle. Her karma might have lead to a difficult life, but the outcome was having such a loving aunt to hold hands with her though it.<br/><br/>I can't say that I have done anything as great as you have, besides my books, but that's nothing to match up to what your doing as an aunt—a mother—I can tell you that left me to think about my own life and situations, and how much doing things for others can change a life for the better; I'm sure your niece, and sister, appreciate it.<br/><br/>I've enjoyed reading your story, and I'd love to write about it, but for now I must cut this message short before I seem to personal. I'm sure your message box is flooded, seeing as your husband is the only fool that would let a creative, caring woman like yourself go. I request that you review my profile, because I have a feeling that we will have more in common than I</em><em>think.<br/><br/>Ball Jointed Book'</em>