She tells herself over and over that it doesn’t matter, it’s perfectly normal, that no one cares nearly as much as she about the state they’ve come to. But no matter how often she repeats the words, her heart refuses to believe them. They fall like hard stones against the silence of her spirit.
Because she still remembers what it was like before, in the days when their eyes shone with eager anticipation, when their lips met with fierce hunger, their bodies entwined with unquenchable desire. She remembers when a moment apart was a slice of hell, and the hours together were all of heaven one could ask.
It is unreasonable, she knows, to expect emotion to remain at such a fever pitch, especially after decades – and decades and decades gone by. So she tells herself over and over that what matters is their strong devotion, their true committment, their shared history encompassing children, grandchildren, parents, friends, and all the experiences of their life together.
She watches him sleep, slack-jawed and snoring, the television blaring ceaselessly into the ignominy of the room. And she knows she will need this mantra for many years to come.
~for this week’s Sunday Scribblings