Wednesday, December 24, 2014

THE HUSBAND

Presumably the partner is the diplomatic thing to say but i prefer husband. It has an intimacy, an expectancy of a sacred bond that is gratifying. I don't believe in marriage as a inalienably sanctified institution nor does my appellation of husband signify an unconscious allegiance to it. I merely appropriate, from the panoply of terms of reference around me the one i find most prepossessing. And i like the sound, heft, cadence and texture of it.
Strangely, even though together we form an indissoluble bond the external world seems evanescent. And perhaps this transitoriness deepens our bond, intensifies the love we have for each other which, though indubitably
veracious is nonetheless piquant . A sigh of pleasurable pain floats from my chest as my love for him, smites my heart with an irresistible poignancy. It seems then that there is too much love. But can there ever be too much love? Is love, the ultimate nebulousness, quantifiable.
Though i measure the alternating rhythms of my regard by juxtaposing them with the degree of intense feeling they rouse in me. It isn't that the intensity varies but is contingent on circumstances. All of a sudden, someone else has assumed centrality in my life. His concerns , worries, preoccupations coincide with mine. His happiness redoubles mine. Some thinkers postulate that romantic love is inherently self regarding. But as far as i'm concerned the ephemeral tissue that solders us is strong enough to withstand travails. The term romance too is circumscribing. There are layers, depths it doesn't plumb.
I also take into account the multitudinous variegations of his being. He can be occasionally sulky when he doesn't get his way or angry when things don't work out as he would like them to. There is a certain selfishness i discern , a precedence to value , under stressful conditions, his own well being before mine. No doubt he sees my weaknesses to but a treaty of reticence renders us circumspect. We both know the other knows, we feel those fibres striating our inner selves but the fibres are intertwined in spirals of interconnection which basically means that our avowals override our misgivings.
Ultimately mortality will reign. This little oasis, this tenuous scaffolding will undergo wear and tear, dents and fissures. Perhaps our closeness is augmented by the reality of our imminent deaths. But the when is fruitless to speculate on. There is the tapestry of our complex beings and there is this haven of luminosity, this block of time, that sustains us, with hope and buoyancy.

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