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  • Drama


    Act I
    Scene of Fight number 72
    The wind howls and heavy rain pours against our windowpane.
    You storm out in a fit of rage while I put my heavy head in my hands and think
    I don’t think you got to finish your lines this time.
    What are we fighting about again?
    As I listen for you to start the ignition
    And watch to see your headlights disappear into the night,
    The room that once felt scorching hot with anger and fire from verbal shots being fired is now bitterly cold and deafeningly silent.
    Whose turn is it to pack up their ego, their pride and insecurities into black suitcases and carry them on their back somewhere else,
    Only to return with heavier baggage, filled with more grievances and unasked questions sparked from more thinking and less talking?
    Whose turn is it to scream the loudest and laugh the hardest when the other one speaks?
    Maybe there’s a reason we don’t listen to one another.
    Maybe words are too big and complex for our insignificant brains to use efficiently.
    Or perhaps we are too big to fit all of our emotions, actions, beliefs, fears, hopes and ideas into tiny combinations of letters in abstract patterns.
    Maybe it’s impossible to communicate, impossible to gain understanding.

    Act II
    Scene of Fight number 73
    The morning sun rises and the clouds part outside of the window next to your side of the bed.
    I roll over to touch you forgetting you have left so I lay my head back and think.
    I don’t think I’ll be needing a script this time, I’m too tired.
    What are we fighting for again?
    As I listen for your key to open the front door
    And I watch to see your beautiful face poke through the doorway,
    Forgive me, as I must break character.
    I run until my feet stop and my body is back in your arms.
    “I love you,” I say, “And I’m sorry I don’t listen.”
    You hold me tighter, and you must be shocked at the plot twist.
    You kiss my forehead and tell me you love me and that you’re sorry as well.
    You have some surprises up your sleeve too.
    You ask me to sit with you on the couch and talk.
    I agree, but only under the following conditions,
    No pretenses, no revenge plot, no clinging on to washed up words of unspoken sadness and grief.
    Let us skip the drama as we lay it all bare, and just for now, we take offense to nothing.
    Let us both be protagonists and heroes of our love
    Because when the fight is for peace, for understanding, what the fight is about is a minor detail in the bigger picture.
    So shower me with your feelings, take as long as you need.
    For once I will do nothing but listen and hear what your heart has been longing to say, and then you will do the same.
    Maybe there’s a reason we are still together thirty-five years and seventy-three fights later.
    Maybe love is too powerful for our weak hearts to control.
    Or perhaps it is our hearts that are too mighty to let this love escape our bodies without a fight.
    Maybe it is possible to communicate, to gain understanding.