Recently my marriage went through a glorious period where I was ‘newlywed’ in love with my husband, we parented in sychronicity, we finished each other’s sentences--we were the Facebook couple others pretended to be. And in one fell swoop, it ended. We fought--a knock down, drag out fight. The sort reserved for reality shows and soap operas, minus the drink throwing of course. We don’t waste beer and wine.
The Little Girl Who Couldn't Ride
And the little girl believes in the warmth of the sun as she whispers and sings in a raspy and broken voice. The words, those she thinks to be correct, are all wrong. She sings anyway. Her notes rise against the wind, carried high up and away like a balloon she remembered from another summer. She had watched it with wonder until she’d realized what she’d lost, and then she cried until her father promised her a new one.