dancing to the sound of the rain


He takes his wife in his arms and they are dancing. I feel this feeling deep inside me, one of loss, of the absence of hope, of happiness for my family, and suddenly I start to tear up. I have to walk away, I do the dishes for perhaps the 3rd or maybe the 100th time today. My niece hugs me from behind and tries to pull me away. No I say I am okay. I really am. But why are you crying? Because I say, because I don’t have a husband to dance with me, because I should but I am pretty sure I never will. I continue to wash the dishes. My emotions are just under the surface. He comes and stands next to me. We talk about the other jobs I need done around the house. He has mowed and blown leaves, sharpened knives and fixed a door knob that was broken; he has a list, another doorknob, clean out the gutters, replace that piece of rotted moulding. But I know he is standing next to me because he loves me, because he understands because I am hurting. He pats my shoulder gently.

Despite my never ending optimism when it comes to these things, I keep coming back to this place again and again. One day I will put on my hat pick up my suitcase and move along. Not because I don’t like the place, but because the place refuses to welcome me, it merely offers me sweet tea with a sprig of garden grown mint on the front porch and a friendly, my goodness it sure is getting late.

Once again a the tears fall of their own accord from my eyes. Damn how they betray me still.

Today I am thankful for myself. Strong. And yet. So. Very. Vulnerable.

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