darkness attracts light.
the contrast can be thrilling.
but it’s always and forever darkness.
and over time, the light gets tired of doing all the work.
their tenth anniversary is a month behind them. their third child is five months ahead. the other two are bright, confident, chaotic masterpieces.
he’s always been spring to her fall. hawaii to her helsinki. but she’s worked, determined to share a few degrees of his summer. over the years she’s been inching closer, through the help of therapy, anti-depressants, and momentary flashes of perspective that never last, but fuel hope, keeping the possibility smoldering. but the imbalance never goes away, her 30 watt bulb all but invisible in the heat of his 200.
it’s not like she doesn’t bring anything to the game. she’s brilliant and funny and adores her kids, but somehow she’s always fighting from a deficit, and in the back of her throat, she can’t help taste the revulsion in her husband, who is tired of the weight, though still in love, somehow.
this evening she’ll slide her pregnant body into his tee-shirt, and she’ll rub his back as the kids slowly fall asleep, and he’ll welcome her touch, and she’ll wish she were less self-conscious, and there will be moments where it feels like going through the motions, though it isn’t, though it feels like it when she intrudes on herself.
and he’ll fall asleep first. like always. and she’ll think that she’s making progress, she gains a few inches every day. maybe some day it will all be as effortless as he makes it seem.
but helsinki is around the world from hawaii. and a few inches a day won’t get you there. even in a lifetime. the best she can hope for is a mile or two south, adrift in the baltic sea.
but she’s afloat.
and she is getting nearer.
and his light is so bright, that it even warms her a world away.