A Murder of Crows

With a heart aflutter with nerves I don't know how to start the conversation. How do I dare to ask the man I married whether he still loves me. 

What a ridiculous question. Can I honestly expect a truthful response?

Would he say "of course I do", because it's the safe answer?

Would he become instantly irritated, see my question as an attempt to initiate an awkward conversation or start a fight?

Would he start a fight to avoid the debate of how we would know whether we still love each other?

Love each other. Implying that I love him as well. Can I risk him spinning the question back round to me, and asking me if I love him?

I wouldn't have an answer. I don't know if I do. If I ever did. I don't understand love. 

Yet I need to know if he loves me. Laughable almost, isn't it. 

Ok, let's try to decode and define love. Again. 

Love for ones children and parents. That ones easy. Siblings too. They're practically a biological extension of one. You love them like you love your own limbs. And losing them and living without any one them would be as inconceivable as tragically losing and arm or leg. People would tell you things will be ok and that life will go on. But after losing a parent or child, life doesn't quite go on the same as before. It's impossible.


So then you meet Mr or Mrs Right. And you fall "inlove". Great feeling. Hormones are happy. Then as a result of this chemical imbalance and toxic high you find yourself doing some unexpected things. Like getting married and promising to be eternally faithfully and respectful. 

In some cases people manage to maintain the joy and intimacy, to remain wrapped up in the warm glow of honeymoon for decades. 

But mostly not. More often the passion cools, the glow fades and you're left facing the stone cold reality of an unsuitable partner. 

Is that where I'm at?

Did I marry this man while on a hormonal high. Was my grey matter rendered unreliable by my rose coloured view of the future at the time?

Or did I really believe that as a person, he was indeed suitable and shared my dreams for the future? Was I sure that he was the only one I wanted to start a family with and grow old with? What made me think it was possible? What made me so sure I was right? It couldn't have been all false feeling based on happy hormones. 

Looking at his sleeping face I will myself to feel something. I'm frustrated and angry at how lazy my emotions are. No bloody butterflies. Only the creaking as mild irritation strains to escape from my clenched jaw. 

Fucking hell! What does love feel like. If he died tonight, would I grieve? For him? Or for my children who would be devastated by the loss of their father?

Would I miss him?

Dammit I want to feel something. And I want him to feel something too.

I want to feel the stupid glow and nauseating joy of romance  novels and movies. 

I want to shake him awake and tell "Bloody fucking hell let's do things we did back when we liked each other, or is it too late? "


There the flutter is back. Not the excited butterfly type. But the frantic flapping of  foreboding crows.


If I woke him and asked him if he loved me ... I'm terrified of what he's answer would be.