Innocence is fragile. Like a Victorian woman’s virtue, it’s gone in a whisper and can never be regained.
I’ve always enjoyed a modicum of innocence despite my age and experience. For some reason, until this year, I felt sheltered from the worst of life’s storms - even after a divorce, an abusive relationship, and some experiences I don’t talk about - some piece of me survived unsullied.
That changed this year. Something happened, and the last line was crossed. There’s been a lot of fall out, and there continues to be an impact. And, forever more, that last innocent, unknowing, naive piece of me is gone.
I grieve that loss as much as I do what happened.