Indivisible

I don't know what you want from me. All I can tell for certain is what you don't want from me. And I can't blame you.

***
It was late. We were too tired to be having such a conversation, but as anyone who has been newly married will tell you, that common-sense fact is a mere detail incapable of derailing a fight that's been spoiling for days. I can see you still, leaning against the wall of that little house built in 1932, the casual set of your shoulders practically screaming your determination to be the rational one. Do you remember?

***

Am I upset? Not really. That would be silly, afterall. I might as well be upset with the sky for being blue or having clouds. You are who you are.

***

You believed him. Who could know the snake coiled tightly within him? You feel it now as a personal failing, to have handed over our business so easily. But it's what's best about you, that ability to see goodness in another. Don't wish it away. When you smile at me, the sun shines for me alone no matter what the sky is up to. Do you know?

***

And I am who I am. Who you've helped me to become.

***

He fires insults like buck shot, and you feel each one like a bludgeon between the eyes. And I feel an intense need to open fire in return. But instead, like yours so long ago, my shoulders are determinedly set to reflect my role as the rational one here. He can only take from us what does not ultimately matter. Nothing of actual value is at stake. Business is business, and it will work itself out. Do you believe?