Rock Paper Scissors

by Alice Feeney

If every story had a happy ending then we’d have no reason to start again. Life is all about choices, and learning how to put ourselves back together when we fall apart.

All people are addicts, and all addicts desire the same thing: an escape from reality.

Different but same. But does that rule also apply to relationships? If we play the same characters for too long in a marriage, isn’t it inevitable that we’ll get bored of the story and give up, or switch off before we reach the end?

People who don’t get to name their children get to name a different future.

One wall is covered in mirrors, small ones, no bigger than my hand. They are all odd shapes and sizes with intricate metal frames, and have been hung haphazardly in place with rusty nails and rustic twine. There must be fifty sets of our faces reflected back at us. Almost as though all the versions of ourselves we became to try and make our marriage work have gathered together to look down on who we’ve become. Part of me is glad I can’t recognise them. I’m not sure I’d like what I saw if I could.

Word of the year: limerence noun an involuntary state of mind caused by a romantic attraction to another person combined with an overwhelming, obsessive need to have one’s feelings reciprocated.

We never talk anymore. It’s like living with a housemate, not a husband. You never ask about my day, or my work, or how I’m feeling. Just what’s for dinner? or where is my blue shirt? or have you seen my keys? I’m not a housewife. I have a life and a job of my own. You make me feel so unlikable, and unloved, and invisible, and…’

isn’t love like breathing? Isn’t it instinct? Something we’re born knowing how to do? Or is love like speaking French? If nobody teaches you, you’ll never be fluent, and if you don’t practise you forget how…

One bad decision often leads to another and then, before you know it, there is no way back to where you were.

Silence cannot be misquoted.

Sometimes we outgrow the dreams we had when we were younger, happy when they turn out to be too small, sad when they prove to be too big. Sometimes we find them again, realise that they were a perfect fit all along, and regret packing them away.

It made me wonder how many firsts a person can have before life only offers them seconds.