My Love Of Love : My Husband's Love

When two people are tied together by their vows, it is each of their responsibility to fulfill the happiness of one another, and if one cannot then they should not expect the same in return. Sinclair Ross’s short story, “The Painted Door”, reveals the growing unhappiness of a farmer’s wife, Ann, who feels alone as her husband John leaves home to help his father in the harsh conditions of the storm. Ann seeks comfort and companionship with another man after 7 years of feeling neglected and unhappy with her husband. The responsibility for Ann’s infidelity, lays not only on Anne but John himself.

The good author will leave the reader with a powerful message without straight out telling them while at the same time using very little words in portraying this message. Molly Giles’ author of “The Poets Husband” and Pamela Painter author of “The New Year” have done a wonderful job of providing a strong micro-short story. The authors use a lot of symbolism and strong short sentences that lead to an understanding of an unhappy relationship due to mistreatment. Although both stories end differently they both leave the reader to connect with the characters about feeling forgotten. Whether they have ever been in a relationship where they stayed even though they were unhappy or the reader has ever been in a relationship where they themselves have cheated and have been broken up with but continues to feel for what they could have had and through away for a quick fling. It is important to keep in mind both angles of a failing relationship and when reading both of these micro-short stories the reader will feel surprisingly more sympathetic and educated in that

“John, can you get the horses back in the barn?” I said to my husband while we were working on the farm. “Sure sweetie, you know you are my favorite,” he said with a sly smirk on his face. As puzzled as I was, I got back to work. The whole time I was feeding the chickens and milking the cows I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Sure sweetie, you know you are my favorite. Those words haunt me inside. The words ,you are my favorite, makes my fingers go numb. If I was his favorite, it means there is someone else. My mind was in a blur. The thought of my husband of 7 years

This chapter begins with the walls between people. People tend to form barriers of trust and communication. They feel they cannot be open and honest, therefore they cut people off from seeing their vulnerable sides. Tearing down these walls can help strengthen our relationships. We have to think, “we” not “me.” I have never been one to hold back my feelings, however, my spouse has always put up walls. I have struggled with being on the side of hoping to tear down those barriers. Reading this book has made me see, it does not have to be a fight or frustrating, I simply need to have a new perspective and see things from their point of view. While I may not be able to relate, I can understand. It’s not about me.

This story displays how terrible a marriage can become. It also shows that marriage is like an exquisite sandcastle; beautiful on the outside, but easily destroyed by waves of problems. These problems can begin to occur even before or during the early stages

She could still feel the question hanging in the air, grasping for an answer. Did he still love her? Her eyes turned a dark green and tears made a permanent trail down her makeup covered face.The mascara was starting to drip on her white bouquet. Her fiance looks at her with the biggest look of pity and with that she already knew the answer. His big hand grabbed hers, a gesture so known to her now felt foreign, as he let her hand go.She looked around and saw the shocked and pitied faces of their friends and family.

Nature-inspired paintings, such as a couple paddling a rowboat, man and woman playing croquet on a verdant lawn, are both serene and romantic. Soft, muted colors promote peace of mind and relaxation.

Before I saw his mesmerizing big brown eyes, and touched his perfect little face. I was a selfish and self indulged person. All I cared about in life was what would satisfy me. I wasn’t concerned with anything, or anyone else, and then I met him. My heart was filled with a joy I’ve never experienced; the bond forged between us was an unimaginable intimacy that only a mother could understand. For the first time I welcomed a brand new taste of love and passion for someone I didn’t know. Yet I needed him, I missed him when we were apart, I yearned to always have him in my arms, I truly loved him. Its then I began to realize, we can’t always control who we love, sometimes it comes naturally as if it was already chosen for us. Other times we have to teach ourselves to practice love, when it doesn’t come naturally.

Two years ago, I had the pleasure of attending my in-laws 35th wedding anniversary. As the night wore on, my father in law lead his blushing bride reluctantly to the center of the dance floor to rekindle their first dance as husband and wife. At first, I cringed inside not knowing how this would end. I think everyone felt a little uncomfortable as they stood in awkward silence waiting for the music to begin. Then the sultry voice of Otis Redding filled the room to the song of “I’ve Been Loving You to Long”. My father in law spun my mother in law out and pulled her back in as she gave a giggle. They swayed back and forth as only lovers can do, never once breaking eye contact. I was watching something so intimate between two people; I felt the

After retiring from the Air Force, I would spend my mornings with my mother, sitting at her kitchen nook, gazing at my father’s roses in the back yard. With the morning dew resting lightly on their petals, they were truly a sight to see. The breeze carried their scent through the windows, making it seem as though he was there with us. It had been two years since he passed but it seemed like only yesterday. His photos surrounded us as we laughed at his silliness, cried at his absence and asked why on a daily basis. Nothing but happy memories and admiration for him remained, and we claimed he was a saint, harboring a wild side and crazy sense of humor. It was on one of these mornings that my mother made a statement that would change our lives forever. “I suspect that your

I waited for him to show his face again, so I could feel important – like I meant something to someone. At the time I remember feeling nothing but a sense of emptiness. Not a bone in my body, nor a cell in my brain felt anything more than a dead flower. I now feel sorrow for myself. Was I really so blinded by this thing I thought was love, that I couldn’t awaken myself to reality? He never loved me. What a fool I was to think I could have ever meant anything to him! We were from two separate hierarchies’, who happened to cross paths over a cow!

They alone could I seek counsel, for our respective loves were two of a kind. With tender hearts did they invite me inside. Pulling a chair away from the table, my spot at the table, they insisted we eat as a family. It was an activity that you and I did together. Still, I accepted. In my childhood home, in my childhood spot, I could once again see my parents through the eyes of a child. They joked with one another, laughing just for the sake of being happy with each other. Their eyes would meet, and a gentle upturn of the lips, with a hand on cheek, I could see love. But this time, this love had given me great sadness. For, the love that I saw was not the love that I had. But, the love that I saw wasn’t love at

Devoted to his paintings he once said to a friend “All I really want to do in life… is to paint landscapes. This firm resolve will stop me forming any serious attachments. That is to say, I shall not get married”.

I love books because my books love me back . In moments of distress literature guides me. When I am heavy hearted, I turn to my favorite novels, they reassure me that even in the worst situation good fate always wins . When I am lonely, I reacquaint myself with the safe and familiar characters that I have grew to love. When I am happy, I smile because I have lived the lives of warriors, enchantresses, and even the commonday person. Although the emotional connection between literature and myself is imperishable, there was a time in my life when that bond was nonexistent. However, for one to understand the significant impact stories have had on my life, one must know my life. Thus this story begins with my childhood. A conventional upbringing of sorts but of course my childhood doesn't begin with me. It begins with my parents. My parents met each other at high school when they were fourteen years old . Call it destiny, or mere luck, this one cue meet would define their lives for the next twenty two years. My parents fell quickly and passionately in love. Their devotion for one another as an imminent as their fallout, however, we are not there yet. We are at the bittersweet moments of young love. The moments that make one believe in eternity although these moments themselves cease to last just as long. My parents own version of forever welcomed a young little girl named Nicte Impala Perez on March 18th 1998. In that moment, my parents believed that the three of us could defeat

The sand felt so warm against my skin, as Robert and I basked in the sunlight. This was our ritual every Sunday afternoon. We both loved the beach, and this was a moment for us to relax, as well as have some alone time. Our lives are very stressful. I’m a corporate attorney, and Robert’s a singer-songwriter, signed with RCA records. When Robert’s not touring or in the studio, and I’m not dealing with contracts or legal documents, we like to find time for one another. He and I have been married for four years now. We met while we were in college. We both attended the great University of Southern California. He was studying music and I was studying law. It’s weird that we met, now that I think about it,… but we just clicked. Robert’s smile still melts my heart to this day. We both want to have kids some day, but just have to fit it into our busy schedules, which is harder than it sounds.