and sometimes I’m not. I want to believe this thing called marriage is a treasure. It’s substantially titanic, defiant exterior is not easily chiseled away. It has to be constantly addressed. Sometimes both sides work together. Sometimes each side takes turns. Sometimes one does everything. Sometimes neither cares.
If the roughness is chipped away, I like to believe at the center is the paragon of beauty: love. Sometimes, I’m madly in love with my spouse. I get a glimpse of the brilliance under the tar. I feel its dynamism. I’m drawn ever so close.
Sometimes he is everything I despise.
Right now I’m madly in love with him. Is that his doing? Mine? How does my perspective of him change? Is Time liable? Is Perception? Intuition? Hope?
No way it’s reality. So much that stacks up against us. It’s not familiarity either. I recognize that. I think by recognizing the possibility of any one of these larger notions’ role in our relationship somehow discredits its responsibility.
There’s something more. The thing that binds. And it can not be a thing I can ascribe to whenever I wish. I’ve tried that in the darkest hours and it’s nowhere to be found. But, it’s ridiculously powerful. Addicting.
I love being madly in love with my husband and hope to remember this taste when I am excruciatingly alone next to him in days to come.