Unwilling to be Unhurt

If walls could talk, maybe I could have saved them.

They’ve never fought like this. I loved being their safe space for quietly sitting in bed reading- one occasionally leaning over to kiss the other’s hand or cheek. The softness they shared was a joy to witness and only seemed to grow until today. Even being a third party I objectively couldn’t tell what changed and it confused me deeply.

This morning she came in crying - I could hear him shouting something frustratedly to her that muffled when she shut the door. I noticed that she purposefully closed it quietly- turning the handle so it wouldn’t make a sound. Maybe she didn’t want him to think she slammed it angrily. She would lay in bed for a while hugging a pillow and then call her mom.

“I don’t know why this is so hard

I know, but you only hear the bad parts of it, there is a lot of good here

He’s the most precious person to me, I just want him to know that.”

I felt a sense of relief hearing these words from her. When he hears how precious he is to her, he’ll feel safe again.

She got up eventually, checking herself in the mirror and applying a bit of powdered makeup under her eyes. She left.


He walked in slowly a few hours later. He stared at the bed for a few seconds, then jumped in on his stomach and opened up his laptop. He quickly wrote up, “My Person.” And followed it with a beautiful collection of adorations for her.

“My person holds my squirmy body

Makes me feel safe

I want to make her feel as safe as I do when I’m with her”

I was so excited for him to share it with her - I imagined the exchanges of relieved laughter and tears and sweet kisses followed by “I love you’s” and “I’m sorry’s.” She’d feel wrapped up in his affection and they’d return to each other.

He shut the laptop and tucked it under the bed, sighing heavily while he left the room.

I waited patiently for nighttime when I’d hoped that sleep would push them to that vulnerable and intimate place of a shared bed. Maybe the darkness and the stillness would relax them, like taking a step together into a warm bath.

That evening they did go to sleep together. They didn’t talk - she took the utmost care to set things down gently, to walk quietly, to ask banal questions in a gentle tone. And he did the same. Things like “Are you warm enough? Would you like another pillow? Were you gunna read…or…?” They turned out the light.

They faced away from each other in the dark. Both of their expressions exuded pain, both cautiously glancing back at the other in silence, maybe hoping to catch a glimpse of that softness, an extended hand, a green-light to reconcile and sweep each other up in warmth. But neither made an attempt to reach toward the other. Their eyes never met, their kind words never surfaced, and their worries were never shared. And that rendered me helpless. If only they could see how hurt the other is, how desperately their souls were aching for each other, how pointless and destructive it was to hold their hearts hostage. I was disappointed in them.

Neither of them knew in that moment how the other felt, but I did. And I wanted to shout it into the cold air. I wondered if I thought hard enough, the room would vibrate and pulse and somehow it would reach their bones and they’d know what I know.

But even if walls could talk, I’m not sure they would have listened.