By Lydia Nolan
© May 11, 2012

He’s gone as far as he can; me too,
We’re breaking down again—
And I admit, we’ve gone too far to care—
We’ve had more than our share of sorrow
And our battles just to shed despair—

We cannot abide this sadness inside us,
This constant trying to smile, to win these many miles,
That we can’t change our weary smiles—
Oh, what is that exactly?
Those empty spaces between our empty words

He’s met his breaking point; and I, mine—
Our making friends and giving them away
An avalanche of busy just to not be near—
My fret, his fear that they will find us both a step away
From madness, and from indiscretion—

I dare say, I shall leave this house,
We’ve bled away our romance for each other,
We stay at home, but longing to be free
Wondering both of us what it would be, a separation
Can we even survive all the devastation
Of our ending—?

We are ended, dear, when will you admit it!
Neither one of us have energy to go on with it,
All that’s left, our precocious child and the
Love for him, that makes us both drear on—

And then you ask me: “what would you like for dinner?”
And then I answer—“anything—do you want to see a movie?”
And you answer—“anything—“ And we realize what we’re
Not saying: “ long as you are there...” and we realize
That marriage is a journey of ups and downs,
And aches, and love, and ecstacy, and despair—
And then, it goes on—and we are there,
An eternal bond—no one can break it—ever—


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