I wrote this 2013 about my husband.

Silence, awkward silence is what was left after everything they needed to say was said
It was the same fight over and over again.
Old wounds were brought to the surface and reopened.
She blamed him for derailing her ambitions
and he blamed her for derailing the productive and selfish life he once led.
They both couldn’t see that they were both at fault
for not continuing to push each other to flourish
but instead they fell into a complacent spell
And a pattern of a comfortable
and the fruitless routine of suburban life.
And the years went on and they had nothing to show for it
except debt and wrinkles they both inflicted upon themselves.
And the years went on and all that was left
was regret for her for the things that she didn’t get to experien
Sad and beautiful
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Statistics bear out that, at death, there are more regrets for what was not done than for what had been done in life…
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I can definitely see that.
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