Last night, we decided to talk. About the things that are raw, uncooked, not even sashimi-sliced. Just slabs of raw placed on the table for both of us to face and scrutinise and analyse and pick apart.
No seasoning, just plain raw.
And you know what? I think it did us a world of good.
I heard things from you that pierced my flesh and spirit, like a fine fish bone scraping its way down my throat with every swallow. Eat a ball of rice, the mothers tell you, swallow hard and it will go down gentler.
I think at times I managed to get through to you. To show you what I see in your mirror - beyond the smoky vagueness of the tomorrow in your head. I showed you what I see clear as day, this hamster-wheel you seem to have yourself caught on, this endless turning, turning and playing catchup with your feet. And I asked you to try and let go.
We ended with a feeling more so than words. A sense, I think, that there is a deeper, stronger current beneath the surface of our negativity. A knowledge in our souls that in the end, we do love each other, and we do want to make it work, and we do share some dreams.
You made me realise that. I think I made you realise it too.
This time the making up was gentler. No tempests, just plain talk. No make-up sex, just you deciding to sleep next to me and wake up next to me with the dog in between us.
I like that. It's what I want.
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