We really didn’t know what to say this February 4th. We tried to say all those things you should – I love you, I can’t believe it’s been three years, I can’t believe the things we’ve done, I can’t believe we moved across a country, travelled across borders, I can’t believe we haven’t killed, maimed or blinded each other, intentionally or accidentally….
A good friend and I spoke yesterday of the pictures that we paint of ourselves here, how they are sometimes so perfect and sweet that even our failures are brush stroked into rosy hued optimism and funny quips. How in blog land we rarely talk about the rages, the betrayals, the pain, the heartache and the strife that evades even the most skilled writer or narrator. Sometimes, there are not enough words (or there are too many) that could protect the careful identity that we craft here for ourselves and still reveal our true lives and loves and pains.
So while Jared and I tried to say the things we should on the fourth, we found ourselves more aware of the things we don’t. The things we don’t talk about – the fights, the gulps, the vomit, the spit and the anger, the sulks, the exhaustion, the tears, the screams and the slams. They are the things that we quash under our “funny couple” routine, the things we wrestle with across the dinner table, the things that three years sometimes resolve and sometimes fortify. Yet amidst all the things we don’t say here and all the things we don’t say in our lives, there lives a space between fights and slams where we learned to stop saying another thing this February 4th.
We stopped saying “I don’t believe…”
Because we do.