Our marriage is like the desert –
almost bearable in the day. Seemingly
never-ending as we drag our feet through
the
terrain. Exhaustion takes over
words. The vows,
unable to withstand the blazing heat,
buried deep
three yards behind. We communicate with
stares of
resignation.
Life goes by on routines; dry. He – the
office and
back. I – the living room, the
study, the kitchen and
bed. This cycle repeats until a
storm hits. Then it is
every man for himself. The fit
survive but only the fittest
last. I, will live. As the thirst
becomes overwhelming,
I shall quench it with tears.
Luckily for me, he cries
like a man.
The nights are freezing, usually
with the kid between
us. The calendar marks our next appointment;
two
minutes of our minds fixated on sand
in uncomfortable
areas. His wedding ring like a noose
as I gasp for air.
Only he can make me feel as dead as I
am alive.
I would not trade him for anyone
else.
Agnes Lee
Topic: Desert (day 20)
Agnes Lee
Topic: Desert (day 20)
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