The Slow Decay Of Something Special.

So you meet someone in a bar, and you fall in love with them. (Within the space of three months, but let's overlook that for now.)
You marry them, and live with them in a shithole apartment in a shithole city- but it's okay, because you're in love.
You have their kids, and put up with their moods, and move from one shithole to another, because you love them.
You move with them to a bigger, better house, and you live with them going away for months at a time and having to raise the kids by yourself, and you put up with them casually fucking around. Because you love them. You might not know why, but you do.
And then one day you look at them across the table after seventeen years of marriage, and suddenly you realize that you've heard all their jokes and that they were never funny anyway, and they aren't beautiful anymore, or clever, or strong, or kind.
And the house, your job, your family, your life, they're all getting smaller and you have to love everybody because that's what you're supposed to do, and going inside yourself and never coming out looks better and better all the time.

I love my mum...

~Jehane