In the library, listening to my head spelling out the things i want to say to you. Things that i could never put in my mouth. Things that maybe you may never hear, unless i decided to hell with the strained peace between us, and just scream it in your face.
I would scream because words cannot contain the amount of pain it cost me to pull this out of my heart. I would scream because you will not understand the amount of energy it took me to carry the message for the whole three years now. I would scream because the man inside of me had decided to show its true color.
That he is afraid. That he is ashamed. But to appear just a little braver than the coward he really is, he chose to yell it off. For fear of the quiver in his voice, the tears that would come out, the vulnerability that would show and the look that you would have in your eyes.
Then all the same, i would cry, i would cry today in your arms. Because for three years i've been the strong man for you. Leaving my wounds in the corner to rot, hugging you tight as i whisper our prayer to sleep. For this one day, the third year of our son's death, i would show you that a chunk of my heart was ripped out too, and that there was no man so strong he could be your anchor.
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In the end, she hugged me and said in the calmest tone i have every hear you speak, "Our strength does not come from horses or chariots, but from God alone. You are not my anchor, but you are certainly the main sail of my ship. I love you. So much."
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