the sacred romance

Married women never giggled when they shopped any more; their eyes never lit up. They just looked strained and tired, and they carried their bags out the door with shoulders that said they weren’t hoping for much.
~Rebecca Reynolds, Thistle and Toad~

Somewhere along the way, love sinned and hope fell short.

It’s the tagline of a thousand stories, the sinking ship of humanity’s hurting hearts.

This is what I wanted.  So why isn’t this what I want?

All she knows is she used to dream of him, she used to sing of him to the stars, but now, she lies awake at night, a sleeping beauty trapped inside.

Somewhere along the way, she grew up and grew strained and tired and turned her back. Instead of wanting him again, she wanted back her old self.

He reaches over with the touch of hope.

This woman frozen in time, she looks at the man beside her, the one she loves, the one locked out.  His eyes grow heavy, dimming with the setting sun.

They hold each other still, hurting in love, waiting in agony with a steadfast confusion, a suffering beyond the realms of disappointment or desire.

“What is it?” he asks.

She can’t say.

“What is it you want?”

She doesn’t know, but take heart.

She’s dying to respond.

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