They open and close the doors so harshly, I sometimes wonder if the doors themselves one day will resist in this harsh handling and backfire on them and they will collide with the very door they are trying to open. I laugh at the image.
Yet, so very strange forms of communication. A true anthropological study. They let the doors shout, the noise of the TV huff and puff, the rattle of plates brawl, the hard footsteps bark angry words for them – and worst of all, let the unspoken silence in between roar in its own fatal entropy. They never fight. They avoid fighting and conflict at all costs. They never ever talk truths about themselves; like it was the Devil’s tongue itself. How much effort it must take! The practice to perfect this kind of language! Years and years of acrimonious studies of the other partner to get to this point. To the point where you’d be willing to sacrifice the last bit of any human positivism you were given at birth; of seeing the good in another human being, not only the flaws. Does love negate this? Does love begin in bliss and then start to detoriate and end up like this? Does love even exist? The leap of facing reality and telling yourself the truth must be hurtful indeed but all the more healthy than this. I hope to never end up like this.