Perhaps by the time it’s finally over, you’re ready, we’re all ready, but it never starts that way. At one moment, things are good. Unstoppable, dynamic, you move together. Where you step, she steps, we steps. Together, you run; together you fly. In one stinging incident, you first awaken to the brokenness. Purple. But you hang together. You think, for a moment, that all will be well. This will not be the end. But you’re sore, a little numb, a little swollen. The damage has been done. And now you’re both hanging on. But you hang on too long. The brokenness is set into monolithic stone. You feel the growing pains that have no room to spread. You wait for the inevitable, fearing the moment when flesh will lay bare. You hope that it will happen quickly, perhaps when you are taking off your socks one day.
Requiem for a Toenail.