Wordy Wednesday: Bursting Bubbles

I’m sat in a room, the curtains shut, the air rotten from stale cigarette smoke.  I can hear the children laughing and playing in the garden, and sigh with relief at their happiness, their ambivalence.  My stomach knots pull tighter with every second sat here and I place my hands across my belly protectively, hoping their warmth will ease the pain.

No words are said.  Our minds wrought with the truth we see in front of us.  Both so fragile, both so tender.  The slightest movement, a sentence badly phrased.  The smallest thing will push us over the edge.  Trying so hard to be careful and considerate, but aching inside.  So destructive.  So hopeless.  There must be a way.

The children.  Always the children.  Their squeals of delight jerking us back to the here and now.  The reality of where we are.  A mutual understanding of the love we have for them.  It is something we share.  Something that really matters.  Something that permeates every cell of our being.

So here we are.  Blowing bubbles in the garden for them to chase.

Now is not the time for answers.  Now is the time to enjoy their happiness.

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