On Being Married

As a married person, I’d say, sometimes being married is as close and sweet as staring into a bonfire on a cool night. But sometimes it just rages like a fire cutting through all the things in your house that you care about. And I’m in there running, batting at everything with a towel. Trying to stop the fire before it spirals out and consumes the house whole.

Sometimes marriage is honest and beautiful, like lily white flowers in a vase, simple and sweet and pure. Things go easy, We laugh and smile, realizing, I don’t know how, but through all this time, we maybe have grown closer.

Other times it seems like a lie I just have to get through. Another day, another month, another year. A lump is hiding in my throat and I know that I can’t let them find.

Sometimes it’s a waiting game. Sitting in a white room with a round clock on the wall clicking noisily by, and I look at the other people in the room, and wonder what they are in for. Other times a paint by the numbers. I open the manual and follow the rules and like that they are happy. And I wonder, don’t they see how mechanical that was. So often it doesn’t seem like they do. Just the doing of the things is what you do, and it runs soundly.

Then it’s been months of hardly speaking to each other. A grunt here, a request there, a slight scolding look or just a look.

The house becomes silent as a crypt, like it was bound up with stretched cotton covering all the surfaces or thin gossamer cob webs, the white slowly dotting out all the rest. Covering our mouths of all the thoughts in our head we’d never dare to say. Things that would start other things. Little matches everywhere ready to spark fires.

We close those things in our hearts quiet and secure from the prying eyes of partners who would never understand and would bruise it. We both are doing this, hiding from each other and yet peeking around corners.

Then something changes again. Another change.

I wake up to a new pale morning, and see them sleeping oblivious to my presence as i watch the rhythm of breathing that keeps em alive. And I wonder how they are still there at all. And I don’t know why, but I feel happy.


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