The bones of you

I wrote this the other night after Danny had left for a business trip to America. I don’t often talk about my marriage on here, mainly because I don’t think he’d appreciate it. But lately I have been looking through other people’s Instagram accounts and thinking “Did they have those screaming rows about who cleaned the toilet last?” Probably not. But part of me thinks that actually these rows happen everywhere. And after that first year where we lost our way a little, I’m glad that I can truthfully write the below.

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IMG_9990Next time I think of leaving him when the dishes are piled up or the dryer has long stopped humming or the cat litter screams changing, I need to remember how I feel now.

How I feel now when he is in the air and I don’t know that he’s safe and he is away from me. Next time I shrug off his 2am advances or lie awake kicking him when he snores, I should remember the silence when he is not here. How my tears run freely as I look at the empty bed. I should remember sleeping wrapped around his pyjama tops, breathing in his smell. Lying on our daughter’s floor and staring at her perfect face and having no one to tell “I can’t believe we made her!”

I married a kind man. A flawed man, yes, because no one is without flaws. But a kind, good man.
We laughed when we read our wedding vows. I felt uneasy initially, promising a perfect love, because that love that is described thus doesn’t exist. But what did exist was our perfect love, our perfect life.
When we married we were living in a damp one bed flat in Greenwich with a beautiful garden. I sat on our front step and would wait for him to come home. We bought our food from Deptford market from the £1 bowls and I, I, ate fish heads for months before our wedding so we could pay for it all.

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We had it all, we thought. We had each other. Danny lost his job, we didn’t care. But then we got more. We got everything when Nives was born. We got handed a world of love that we didn’t know existed and suddenly the world wasn’t just us anymore.
And our perfect love came second to this love. This all encompassing love. And that’s not wrong, it just is. I wouldn’t change it. We found our way back. We kept the second all-encompassing love and included each other. I realised I couldn’t live without him. I could, of course, but I didn’t want to.
And here we are. And I feel now after just four years of marriage and four more of him and us that I have a new way of looking at love and at him and, by god, I love the bones of him.
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