Saying the things that could go unsaid

Is this nostalgia or is this the knowing?

Am I remembering how things were or am I discovering how things are now?

And is it stiffness in the air that I’m breathing or is it stillness?

It’s different now, I know

But it’s more than that, more than a few differences;

You’re like a whole new person wearing the same face

I recognize your expressions, your quirks, your smile

I recognize your skin- I know it as well as I know my own.

Your hands have always felt like this.

Your voice has always sounded like this.

You’ve always been overwhelming in a way that didn’t suffocate me

And the difference is suddenly clear to me: it is the distance

Our every interaction is laced with space

With more spaces than we can count, no wires can tighten these gaps

Gaps of time

Potholes in the road to who we are right now

Bottomless- no… they’ve already been filled and filed to the perfection

By someone else

Multiple someone elses

Now we’re sliding into our old selves

Trying to accommodate our new selves

Without revealing too much

Trying to morph and change into the last recognizable shape for the other- for each other

It’s a courtesy

It’s an apology

It’s enough

It finally feels like enough

It finally feels sincere

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Scintilla 

10:30am

In my mother’s house, my room is half full of things I left behind. There’s no space in my  new cupboards for all the jeans I was keeping for when I one day was a size 0. There’s no room for sentimental paraphernalia from 2000 and late. It smells musty and un-lived in. I grew up in this place, so why does it feel so

so

far away? like another lifetime I can barely recall. Even with standing in my room, it felt as if I was looking at it through a tunnel.

My bathroom however, feels exactly the same. That might be due to the fact that I’ve hardly gone to the bathroom since I got married. I had never experienced constipation before. Now I’m constipated all the time. My body would only find its way to the bathroom if my husband was nowhere near the vicinity and wouldn’t be for a few hours. I hope that goes away soon. I can’t live like this: Driving to my mom’s house every time I need to go.

23:45pm


One of the first questions I asked my husband before we got married was “Are you an affectionate person?” He said yes, he thinks so. Anyone who knows me, knows that a negative answer to that question would have been a total deal breaker for me. I can’t have my husband telling me not to hug him or touch him. I had already learned that not only was I generally an affectionate person, Physical Touch is my love language. It’s how I show people that I care for them. Similarly, simple gestures (like kissing my forehead) makes me feel loved.

He holds my hand while he drives. He opens the windows because he knows I get carsick. We drive around aimlessly at night. It’s my favourite pastime. We enter the house quietly, leaving all the lights off. I turned to kiss him-

you know sometimes when you touch a balloon and you touch someone else you feel a sort of spark? or when you touch the handle of a trolley and you get a shock? –

Sparks ignited when our lips met. literally. There was a beat of silence before I started whooping, laughing, jumping.

He thought it was hilarious. I thought it was magical. I am endlessly, hopelessly romantic. He asseverates all his love for me with his actions. I try and memorise the way he says my name. The way his tongue caresses the vowels in a way that makes my heart tremble.

I keep waiting for married life to “settle” to come into a routine. I find that each day with is different and filled with more.

more.

That night was actually hysterical. It was 3 and a half weeks into being a wife. I really hope you guys are enjoying this as much as I am. 

xo Effzed