October 7, 2012

My dearest,

It’s one of those rare days when we are arguing. Only, when we argue, it’s a lot like a cold war: Silence.

Give it a few hours and one of us will be forced to say something, to ask the other a question, something mundane such as “What would you like to have for dinner?” or “Did you remember to pack your bag?” … There’s always something.

And the defrosting happens, quickly enough most days. Soon we are laughing and joking again. Forgetting the argument and its silly, petty origin.

That part is easy.

During the storm though, when you are right smack in the middle of it, it’s not that easy. You feel indignant, wrong, furious. Only the love and the strength of the years you have shared remind you that this is only one awful moment and that it will pass. That we are making this up as we go along, and it’s okay if we get angry, so long as we don’t lose sight of what matters:

This. Us. Our life together. How precious that is, how precious.

We are back to calling each other idiots and other affectionate, ugly names. Pinching and prodding our fat bits. (The love handles and belly, mostly.) We forget the petty and the small, and remember only how swell this is, to be able to call each other horrid names.

Yours, ever and always.