Rules of Engagement

So many years... Years of pain, and sweat, and tears. So very many efforts; many arguments, little accomplishments. How many years were invested into "us"?

This is why it just wasn't enough. Love alone is simply... never... enough.

We can always say this chapter began and concluded with a dead marriage. A sacred union turned into a mocking, false aspiration of something that was never really tangible in the first place.

We both knew it was over the morning we awoke into a habit. A real habit. The kind that numbs your existence into a feeble whisper of what should have been. The dawn broke clearly into the bedroom. I found myself facing the door. He faced the window. He didn't bother kissing me good morning. I can't say I acknowledged him myself. We didn't care to put the forth the effort, I suppose. I stayed still, lying on my side of the bed to hear the shuffle of his weight from the mattress to the dresser. He began to get dressed and I couldn't even bring myself to look at him. I didn't want to. Too many years and counting, but it ended that day without a decent milestone to define it.

Just the realization that we had become exactly who we promised to never be.

So I pulled myself up--soul and all-- off of  our bed as he walked toward it. I helped him make the bed in silence. He brushed his teeth while I got dressed. I brushed my teeth as he went downstairs to the kitchen.

That Sunday morning in August, he let me do the dishes. I let him sweep.

I knew I loved him. I had absolutely no doubt in my mind that he loved me as well. He took out the trash. I cleared the table. We cleaned out the remnants of a night designed to salvage anything that might have survived the institution that had become a savage prison. We soon discovered that the only things that would remain were a couple of empty wine bottles and half-eaten chocolate cake.

And yet, somewhere deep inside we still loved each other though somewhere along the way we lost the specific reasons.

We kissed each other a quick goodbye and with the promise that he'd come to pick me up later. We didn't go to church that Sunday.

I knew our moment had passed and was irretrievable. He was gone too and that house seemed more empty than ever before. This house, that held our fondest memories, was almost unbearable now. It suffocated the thought that I might still be able to create new ones with the man I called my husband.

I took my ring from the rim of the sink, stared at it for a full two minutes and put it in my back pocket. The pressure of the house's weight lifted just enough. I thought of my family and how they would take this. But something inside me felt more alive. Something inside me was gasping at the fresh air coming from the window that was left open.

It rained that evening. The soil came to life and, as always, it was as if I had inhaled the intoxicating aroma of humidity and fresh earth for the very first time. The icy drops felt like frosty bullets. They held me to him that night... made me protect him... helped me stay.