Someone told me recently they could never be a writer because they hate rereading their work. Yes. In writing you have to reread, reread and reread again to the point where you can’t see the words on the page anymore, just the words you expect to see.
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Living this life together,
Sharing this bed of marriage, No matter what our problems Here is where we always come together. And once, after a beautiful day of joy, I curled up beside you, Snuggling into your warmth as always. I closed my eyes and dreamt of you, Lying beside me, peaceful and calm, Our heat intermingling And keeping each other warm. I woke smiling, at rest in myself. I touched your shoulder; It did not add heat to my own. I rolled you onto your back so easily And looked into your open, staring eyes with fear; They were empty. You were gone. My eyes filled with my pain, Overflowing into the growing cold of your absence. When all was finished And I was again in our marriage bed, Alone and cold without you to warm me, You were there; Lying beside me, peaceful and calm, Our heat intermingling And keeping each other warm. It is only when I wake That I realize, I am cold. |
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