The Good Wife
Excerpt:
The Good Wife
It brings little consolation that there is a table in the back corner, covered in some unsoiled white table cloth with its silky round edges, under those pastel flowers with delicate and dying petals. There is no solace in the quickly placed, unpolished flatware, and the two creaking wooden chairs.
There are whispered conversations as well, without my name in them. And it bares great weight upon me, that there are no un-ushered glances coming my way, nor thoughts, or words.
I am not feeling any better, in fact, in all this soft color, the flickering lights... and the blossoming love. It is as if my heart were two twin maidens, uncertain and rebelling against all that is factual, true, and relevant.
Crossing sore legs, biting short nails, telling wide smiles for all to see through, I wipe off my fork with my sad little dress, and use my dull knife to cut out yet another piece of this undercooked heart, as its dark juices spread over the thin silver line on that shiny bone china.
All the while I remain silent...
...like any good wife would.
