https://www.angelfire.com/art2/dream/index.html
writegirl2000@hotmail.com
One day I don’t want to wake up and realize that I am 50 years old and wonder “What the Hell am I doing here?”
I don’t want to look over at the man sleeping in our marriage bed and want to rip my guts out. Or would it be his viseration I would be interested in?
What was once, long long ago a brief moment, a few months, of pleasure had ripened and hardened into nothing.
I would not hate him because of the sag in his chin or the lovely wrinkles deeply scratched into his brow from years of outdoor work. It work not be the sour metallicness of his once melodic breath. It would not be the bitter scent of his flesh. I could bear any of it. I could cherish it just as I had adored the roughening of his hands.
No.
What would scar me and scare me would be the unending years of his loves. His love of booze. His love of drugs. His love of gambling.
The nights he left me lying in a pool of tears. Until finally I no longer cared if he returned from the bar. In fact, it became something, a time, I could count on. Time for me to love myself when he could not do it.
Jonesing, he would fly about, calling, driving, wanting, begging for a bit of the sweet lady to suck into his lungs.
And his stack of nonwinning lottery tickets, enough to paper a family room, chuck up the drawers of his desk, the closet, no longer storing clothes. But all of that, it would not be so much, except that it represents the ultimate in disrespect. It would eat deep at a woman’s soul.
The final blow would be when the desire of sex ends. Did it ever last beyond those first thrusts of love. Probably not. It waned becoming less and less frequent until she bought vinyl to replace him. The touch, even of an unworthy man, never came again.
Filled with anger about the years of arcane psychological abuse I don’t want to end up like one of the sad ladies, silver of hair and sorrowful of heart. Hardened up into a statue. Untouchable, and untouched.
Pick wisely. Get out when you see the truth. Unblind yourself from gangreous love. Grab the rope.
