After Fighting with My Husband Marie Hoffman I've never seen such sadness in your eyes, the grey round irises soft and filling to the brim like a cup, overflowing. My hands can't hold your hurt. You say you can't catch breath above the waves, your body tired from swimming against the tide, and I have yet to pull you up. Your heart drops, a ship's anchor, pulling you under instead of holding your place against the rocking of water. I want to plunge below with you, to reach into your chest, separate rib from rib, to pull your heart from its cage, lift it above the sea, placed against my chest, mine in sync with yours.
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