In marriage, we are all geologists. We
always know which stones are the heaviest, which are the ones which will
shatter the most upon contact, break into a million tiny precedented
bitternesses. We stand behind our fortresses, hurling with all our might and
wonder at the destruction. Our partner in life and this slow war of attrition,
hides down behind their bunker and we throw harder. Or, they come up standing,
risking blow after blow to throw their own stones, the ones they know will hurt
the most, have the longest history of damage done.
But what if we could put down those
stones? What if, when we empty our pockets and the deepest recesses of our
lesser selves, we unburden not only our partner, but lighten our own load. What
if we come out from behind our cairns and meet in the middle, leaving behind
our past and step toward the future with empty pockets, hearts clean of scar
tissue.
The person on the other side of that bunker is your own personal
geologist because they have seen the depths of you; they know the fires in
which you were forged, the stuff of which you are made. And they’re still
there, standing on the strata of previous battles. They’re still there. And
what a beautiful thing to walk away from the carnage, hand in hand and pockets
turned inside out with nothing left but hope.
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