I strolled along, casually holding my sandals at my side, ignoring the searing temperature of the sand. My boyish hips swayed a little unnaturally; all part of the Mexico-me.
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Does my husband look at me every day and wonder if I have 100 pairs of black yoga pants or has he just given up on me and accepted that his beloved may actually be wearing the same pants, day in and day out?
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The door to a house I can no longer visit, and don’t even know if it still exists, will always be a sacred symbol to me. If I want to believe the dream analysts, then I have to accept that hiding behind that door in my dreams means I am afraid, insecure, out of control, and needing to escape. On the other side of that door lies madness.
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