I love my wife more than anyone or anything in the world. I desire her more than any celebrity or starlet or ghost from my past. I want to be with her. I crave her company, her presence, and the light in her eyes is a tonic to my soul. Her curves entice me, her laughter delights me, and I want to be where she is.
But we can't get along.
Old hurts get in the way. The discouragements and trials of daily living beat us down. We are too sensitive. We are too different and too alike. We say just the wrong thing at just the wrong time. The devil torments us with our demons and insecurities. I've failed her in ways she can never forgive or forget.
My pride gets injured and my back goes up. I set my jaw and lapse into a sulk or storm off. I wound her when I should comfort her. She turns away from me when I need her most. The old hurts are right below the surface. We can be blissful and happy, but a misery gets triggered by a random reminder and we are right back in the stew, stewing and murmuring to ourselves, dwelling on all the wrong things.
I would give anything to take her in my arms and make all the hurt go away, to create a moment or a gesture or a tenderness or a passion that settles things forever, that takes us out of our awful patterns and destructive habits. I wish I could love her in a way that makes her forget all her old loves, or our old hurts. I wish I had the right blend of confidence and tenderness to conquer her heart forever.
Instead we stumble along and stumble into fights and squabbles and tiffs, misunderstandings and hurt silences and sorrowful blowups. We waste precious hours and damage tender mercies. Last night I said something hurtful and banished myself to the couch.
I need her and I want her. I want us to belong together and be united against every trouble and difficulty that comes along. I want to renew my vows every day with gestures of kindness and moments of grace.
I wish I knew better and did better and could stop screwing up. I love her with all my heart.
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