Peace, like an elephant on my chest; I can’t breathe but at least we are not fighting. The rigid air hangs like sheets on the line, stiff but dry. Plastered smiles and short salutations get us through until bedtime, but what we can hold in standing up pours out lying down. Tender feelings are compressed and come out only as water. Anger bubbles and brews. Disappointment lives down deep and sours the milk of love. There are things worse than cross words. Moldering, festering, frozen words pound spikes in a relationship fraught with apprehension. The truth is I would let these pent-up things out, but I don’t trust you and I don’t trust me.
See through time.