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Inside the sea is still fighting for her, it retains its hold. I think, deep in the darkest hours, that even if she survives this night that ocean will have her back one day.
To miss her less and more at once. To grieve for her less and more. She is balm to his loneliness and a symptom of it. His love for her endures, gives her form.
“Instead of trying to make him as hard as his anger you could help him to be softer than it.”
I don’t tell him it’s not his job to carry his family. It is his job, because he has decided it is.
I think my husband loved me as a vessel. Not consciously, I don’t think so little of him that I believe he could be conscious of this. But somewhere deep within. A buried truth in the darkness. He never took the time to discover my body, he never explored it for what it could offer aside from the obvious, he never found in me, in my essence, a purpose other than to carry children, and when I admitted I couldn’t do this for him he turned away from me. He had no more use for my limbs or my skin, my muscles or tongue or fingertips. He couldn’t even see me anymore, my flesh. I’m not sure that such
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There is unfathomable pressure on women to have babies—it is our only purpose—and when we don’t, we baffle people.
I don’t know what it will do to her or make of us, but I understand what it means to lose someone suddenly, I know how words unspoken can be a poison within, so if I am to lose someone slowly I will make sure there is nothing unsaid.
I can see how this divide could grow until it swallows even the memories of their closeness.
I close my eyes, drinking it all in, knowing it is a place in time that I will never forget. The world is dangerous and we will not survive it. But there is this. Impermanent as it may be.
But here is the nature of life. That we must love things with our whole selves, knowing they will die.
