We are repeating yet fleeting,
estranged remnants,
together alone.
It was the strangest feeling.
To be married.
To be chosen.
To share life.
The one place
you are supposed to matter most
only to become a ghost.
To be forgotten.
To disappear
into the wallpaper and tapestry,
not in a woven way
but in a painted to look like it way.
And if you stay long enough,
no longer reflected in their eyes,
you will forget yourself too.
The dissolution of my geography.
My fault lines slowly became riddled with fissures
until one day the area between my *******
collapsed in to a sink hole.
I try to make a point in any relationship not to call names or threaten the relationship. I feel like if something occurs that makes you feel bad then you should talk about it. Things left unsaid create resentment. There are ways to communicate without having to make the other person feel like less. When respect and care are not given it chips away slowly at the other person.
