The bottom of everything is love.
That's what I thought to myself while she cried, while I cried, while we argued about everything without ever touching the real thing. That her heart was hurting from an old wound. That she was counting on me and I was counting on her and that we had let each other down when it mattered the very most.
We won't talk about this again. Ever. Can we agree on that?
I shrug. Sure. Whatever. We can talk or not talk but the truth is it is still here, this sadness, this fierce love, this beautiful tension between what we hope for and the way it is.