Complexities of long-term relationships

 

Complexities of long-term relationships

I turn out the light 
on my side of the bed 
and roll on to my side 
and fold my arms, hands 

in armpits, my thumb 
aching as it compresses 
into my shoulder either
from holding it this way

too many times for too 
many years or from using
it too many different ways 
for too many years and 

there is for a moment 
an ache in my gut like my 
balls have been kicked but 
it only lasts for a moment 

and—“Good night, love,” 
she says and, “Good night,” 
I say as I realize that three 
days have passed since our 

seventeenth anniversary
and we have done nothing
to celebrate and not because 
seventeen is not such a special 

year but because there is no 
money for it and—“There’s 
something on the counter
that’s shining a blue light.”

“It’s the little vacuum.”
“In the kitchen?” “No, 
dear. In the dining room. 
On the shelf. It’s reflecting.”

“Oh. I just hadn’t noticed
it before.” And I think, 
“It has been in that same 
spot for two months.”


10 thoughts on “Complexities of long-term relationships

  1. Nicely done. It strikes me as sad and discouraging in one way, and comforting in another. So much of our lives consist of just the drab parts. Until we can spark some interest into even those parts, wake up enough to see what we’ve been missing in our sleepwalking, nothing will change. But the impetus for change is always there.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I don’t think that I was feeling particularly sad or discouraged when I wrote this. It was one of those cases of the words kind of falling out of me. Trying to capture a moment. Pretty much straight reportage really. It’s just what happened. Just so.
      I like the idea of a spark in the drabness. Making jewels from the compressed mineral elements of our lives. This idea fits neatly into what I have been working on in my photography so it’s nice to see it show up here as well.
      Thanks as always for your words.

      Liked by 1 person

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