yours and mine, somehow intertwined

there are days when he turns one and he has that wild shock of blonde hair and i turn twenty-four and i relive all the painfully living lessons and he chases me on his big motorcycle and his shame makes him disappear and he looks at me with his soft eyes while he carries his injured child away, just checking to make sure i was still all right that i need a hole, not bloodied, and i need to learn to just let it go.

privacy is still a fucking barrier, whether he chooses to believe it or not. the justification for his fortress frightens me. the weapons i wield are invisible, yet he dons armor with the same vigilance as if i were brandishing them in his face. something that i do keeps him shrouded, occasionally initiates the molding of new bricks.

will marriage make our differences coalesce, or will the years just teach us to lie a little sooner, harder, better?