wife

Why didn't you write all this time?Did you not remember us in a song?A dance?In the skies littered with stars?Did you not get drunk?Why didn__ you write all this time?Did you not remember us in a film?A book?In idyllic dusks and dawns?Did you not get high?It is good that you didn't.For all is well. I am drunk and dazed.I have already forgotten youand your bewitching ways.

Like a pair of old slippers,I feel comfort andwarmth as I slip into you.No, that is too crude.Like the match to the wick,I ignite when we touch.My counterpart andlife's purpose.Yes, as though I've known you my whole life.Every scar, every failurehas become an affirmationof what should be:You.Yes, as though I've loved you my whole life.

With you, I am. Without you, I am not.

The only path wide for us all is love.

I've written you sixty-seven love poems.Here__ another one for you.But really, for me.These poems are the candles that I light with the fire you have ignited in me.I place this candle here and another thereso even if the stars have argued with the moonand are sulking away in a corner, you can still find your way to me.Sixty-eight poems now. What does the future hold for us?Joy? Disappointment? Gentle caresses? And subtle neglect?I hope the good is more than the bad. Much more. For what is the point of loveif by lighting these candlesour own flame loses its brightness?I know the good is more than the bad. Much more.I cannot wait to write you sixty-nine.

My wife divorced me because she could not trust me anymore.I never want a divorce because I love and care about our daughter.

Opposities are married.

There was a certain usefulness in having a husband whom most people could barely tolerate: it deflected envy, for one thing.

When, some months later, Zoltan emailed me about his decision to run for president, I immediately called him. The first thing I asked was what his wife thought of the plan.__ell, in a way,_ he said, __t was Lisa who gave me the idea. Remember how I said she wanted me to do something concrete, get some kind of a proper job?___ do,_ I said. __lthough I__ guessing running for president on the immortality platform was not what she had in mind.___hat__ correct,_ he confirmed. __t took a little while for her to come around to the idea.___ow did you break it to her?___ left a note on the refrigerator,_ he said, __nd went out for a couple hours.

Let [the wife] guard, as much as possible, against a gloomy and moody disposition, which causes her to move about with the silence and cloudiness of a spectre; for who likes to dwell in a haunted house?

All I need to dois place my pen against paperand your lovewrites for me.

Marrying one woman doesn__ mean spending your life with one woman, because the funny girl you fall in love with on a first date at twenty-eight eventually becomes the fascinating creature you propose to at thirty, then evolves into the stunning bride you wait for at the end of an aisle at thirty-two, and finally grows into the astounding mother to your children at thirty-four. By forty, she has blossomed into the businesswoman, the force to be reckoned with. By the time you__e fifty or sixty or seventy or a hundred, she__ been everything _ your wife, your lover, your friend, your companion, your sous-chef, your travel partner, your life coach, your confidant, your cheerleader, your critic, your most stalwart advisor. She grows with you. She changes with you. She is always stable, but never stagnant. She is not one woman. She is a thousand versions of herself, a multitude of layers, an infinite ocean whose depths you plumb over a lifetime, whose many treasures and intricacies, quirks and idiosyncrasies you need an entire marriage to explore._ His voice softens. __ man should be so lucky to spend his life stuck with one woman such as that.

Don't tell your friend you are fighting with your wife, it gives him pleasure

Husbands are the leftovers of a stew called love __he thought_, and with hair on their faces.

Wyatt__ lips flatten into a serious line. His voice goes low, laced with passion. __arrying one woman doesn__ mean spending your life with one woman, because the funny girl you fall in love with on a first date at twenty-eight eventually becomes the fascinating creature you propose to at thirty, then evolves into the stunning bride you wait for at the end of an aisle at thirty-two, and finally grows into the astounding mother to your children at thirty-four. By forty, she has blossomed into the businesswoman, the force to be reckoned with. By the time you__e fifty or sixty or seventy or a hundred, she__ been everything _ your wife, your lover, your friend, your companion, your sous-chef, your travel partner, your life coach, your confidant, your cheerleader, your critic, your most stalwart advisor. She grows with you. She changes with you. She is always stable, but never stagnant. She is not one woman. She is a thousand versions of herself, a multitude of layers, an infinite ocean whose depths you plumb over a lifetime, whose many treasures and intricacies, quirks and idiosyncrasies you need an entire marriage to explore._ His voice softens. __ man should be so lucky to spend his life stuck with one woman such as that._-Julie Johnson, "The Monday Girl

Are you ready to go home, Catherine?_ he asked. __t__ warm inside the house. I kept a fire going for you.__ continued looking at him, unsure how to respond. __hanks,_ I managed to say and then glanced in the direction of his house__ur house. __ell, you are my wife. And I know you don__ like the cold.____ his wife, I thought to myself. He had said the words as if that simple fact made it necessary to be both thoughtful and kind. As if having gained a wife or husband meant having also gained her or his concerns, and hence the need to consider the person__ needs, wants, and preferences as strongly as one__ own. It struck me as a perfect description of what marriage ought to be. An agreeable notion that had not entered into my petty way of viewing matrimony. I would have assumed it to be above Thaddeus_ egotistical mindset as well.__atherine?_ he said again, watching me regard him with a quizzical expression. __re you ready to go home?__ nodded, which made him smile.

A month ago, Gavin had given his employer four weeks' notice. "I'll get a job around here," he'd told her. "Something low-stress, part-time, maybe. We're not paying rent, and Dad's left us plenty. You should quit, too." A year earlier this news would have filled her with delicious, full fat, chocolate-coated joy. But now, after a grueling routine of shitty work, shitty- weird home life in a house where the shadow of a dead boy walked more solidly than the grownups, shitty headaches, shitty worry about a husband who couldn't keep his dick out of other women, the golden offer just weirded Laine out. She didn't trust it.

It__ important to have a husband that lives and believes the same way you do. Otherwise, you__e asking for problems.