Being Wedlocked
I wished for the starry dreamy nights and sleep in tight embraces. Cradled to sleep every night with kisses on my forehead, softly letting me into a sleep of contentment. To my dismay, I toss and turn with his loud snores, pushing him further till the snores become short steady silent breathes.
Imagined I will be draped in sarees he fancied, apply bold kohl making my every stare coquettish. Seducing him at every step and turns I make, luring him into the world of romance. Unromantic as it sounds, he found peace in boring boxers and I in oversized, torn tops and sad underpants.
Isn’t love all about youthfulness and sweet fragrance, then why do we have to whiff stinky sweats and bad breath as we sit closer? I remember the musky odor and the smooth cheeks. Now all I get is the pricks from the fresh new beard growing without my consent.
Quarreling is hard you see. I hate that about marriage. I laugh amidst my shouts and tears, reminding him of all his failures, he jumps right in, reminding why I love him. I hate that I am weak. Sending love through mobile was easier and stronger. Ask him and he will say otherwise.
It is simple. I am vulnerable and powerful whatever he wants me to be. Not because I am in his control, rather the mischief is in his left dimple. His winks make me smirk, but no other soul with flaws can call me his own or I can call mine.
