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Aug. 2nd, 2008
[QtM] Marriage quote
Aug. 2nd, 2008 07:13 pm“When a woman marries again, it is because she detested her first husband. When a man marries again, it is because he adored his first wife. Women try their luck; men risk theirs.”
--Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
((related to this, written because the muse internally flailed over it for days, silly girl))
She does not let herself obsess. She doesn’t mention it again, not once. It might surprise some that know her to discover that she can do that if she wants. Yes, she can keep things to herself. Yes, she can brood. No, she doesn’t have to talk about everything.
She’s never been a good liar, but there is one thing she’s lied fairly consistently about most of her adult life: how many times her mother has actually been married. She always says she’s lost count, flips a hand, rolls her eyes and moves on to something else. It’s not that big of a deal, it’s probably ridiculous to think that the astounding number of her mother’s fuck ups--especially as her mother had nothing to do with raising her--reflect on her in any way. She just can’t shake that feeling of embarrassment, silly as it may be, so she keeps the exact number to herself.
She can’t shake the cynicism, either. The number of marriages that end in divorce, how few couples remain happy with each other for the remainder of their lives. People think nothing of breaking promises, so why the hell make them in the first place? Human beings aren’t naturally monogamous. No animal is, and at the end of the day, for all their shining advancements and talk of big evolved brains, humans are still animals. Promises that large should mean something. It shouldn’t be a ‘we’ll cross our fingers, roll the dice and hope for the best’ kind of thing. That was what craps tables were invented for.
And yet, sometimes, she’s wondered: what if?
It’s something she’s sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, she doesn’t need. She can live the rest of her life, perfectly happy, without it. But there are times the idea is appealing. Sometimes, just sometimes, it could be something she’d want. The possibility, the ‘if.’ If you could belong to someone and know that they belong to you. It‘s a lovely word, when spoken the right way. Belong.
Kisses and touches and moments aren’t stolen if they’re your’s. It’s a nice thought. If it could work. If promises could be kept.
It's just a very big, very scary little word.
If.
word count: 415
--Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
((related to this, written because the muse internally flailed over it for days, silly girl))
She does not let herself obsess. She doesn’t mention it again, not once. It might surprise some that know her to discover that she can do that if she wants. Yes, she can keep things to herself. Yes, she can brood. No, she doesn’t have to talk about everything.
She’s never been a good liar, but there is one thing she’s lied fairly consistently about most of her adult life: how many times her mother has actually been married. She always says she’s lost count, flips a hand, rolls her eyes and moves on to something else. It’s not that big of a deal, it’s probably ridiculous to think that the astounding number of her mother’s fuck ups--especially as her mother had nothing to do with raising her--reflect on her in any way. She just can’t shake that feeling of embarrassment, silly as it may be, so she keeps the exact number to herself.
She can’t shake the cynicism, either. The number of marriages that end in divorce, how few couples remain happy with each other for the remainder of their lives. People think nothing of breaking promises, so why the hell make them in the first place? Human beings aren’t naturally monogamous. No animal is, and at the end of the day, for all their shining advancements and talk of big evolved brains, humans are still animals. Promises that large should mean something. It shouldn’t be a ‘we’ll cross our fingers, roll the dice and hope for the best’ kind of thing. That was what craps tables were invented for.
And yet, sometimes, she’s wondered: what if?
It’s something she’s sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, she doesn’t need. She can live the rest of her life, perfectly happy, without it. But there are times the idea is appealing. Sometimes, just sometimes, it could be something she’d want. The possibility, the ‘if.’ If you could belong to someone and know that they belong to you. It‘s a lovely word, when spoken the right way. Belong.
Kisses and touches and moments aren’t stolen if they’re your’s. It’s a nice thought. If it could work. If promises could be kept.
It's just a very big, very scary little word.
If.
word count: 415
