So...hey.
We're still here. That would be we, plural. No one's jumping the ship even thought the past two days there was a spectacular attempt launched in order to see who could hurt each other most. Who could dent the most fundamental of promises, and leave the other in more agony.
We've called a draw, both of us stopping short of the point of no return. We're okay. Stop worrying. The handsome albeit self-serving protector/rescuer reverend and his completely unstable adorable nymphomaniacal tortured writer-girl wife have called a fucking draw, a mutual surprise at a collective unwillingness to make it to the point where you can no longer take it back.
A bigger sigh of relief that there are still things worth fighting for in this world, namely each other. Testing a theory that held. Thank fucking God. It held.
We haven't laughed, yet, but we're doing a hell of a lot better than we were yesterday. And tomorrow I'll share it because I'm headed back to my wall of flannel now.
