Going through so much pain and protracted misery than anyone ever should and being deeply physically/mentally scarred from it, yet where most others would have died either by their own hand or otherwise, and when confronted with the reality of an inescapable abyss, she bravely pressed on. Longing for a place where that unrelenting voice would at last falls silent.
That is who my cute, impetuous wife is to me. I would love to trace the rough burn scar ridges on her back until I'm driven to tears, or hold her body that is overly delicate from stunted growth like the treasure she is. The things that make her 'ugly' to most are instead beautiful to me, they are the chronicles of her troubled existence, each flaw tells another story, and she wears each one like a dress made of the finest silk.
I don't even care that she is infertile, that is a sad reality I will happily help her bear. Those two limpid eyes of hers are filled with so much incorruptible compassion and kindness that it can hardly be contained, and it seeps out of the darkness in her face like a blinding radiance and warms my heart. Nothing is more precious, nothing deserves love more than she does.
If I can’t pull her out of the abyss I’ll die in there with her.
