Her voice—a voice that would wake all creatures, on most occasions—was silent.
We continued with our staring battle: her green universe-eyes examined my dark brown-eyes. Neither of us moved an inch. It felt almost child-like, as if we were kids having a serious game of who would blink first. If that was the case, I would win…every time. But this was no game; this was no competition; and we were not kids. This was much more. This was marriage. And at this exact moment, she was in distress, and I, confused.
Time was the culprit; time was the reason we were both lost for words. She, preoccupied with work and friends. Myself, engrossed with worry and boredom and thoughts that corrupt my brain.
I have, for as long as I can recall, been a worrisome individual. When I was a child I feared that I would find myself alone having to fend for necessities to live. In my youth, I feared I would have no companions to associate with. Later on, in my teens, I was distraught over the fictional thought that my parents would cheat and split. And now, at the mature (well, at least it’s supposed to be) age of 27, I have developed my biggest fear: losing my wife.
Nevertheless, these fears will not get the best of me. I will not allow it. She is my heart. She is my whole life. Losing her is not an option. So, I will speak and I will tell her how I feel. In hopes to free her distress and make my worry disappear.