I'd rather see your Star explode

When a house stops feeling like a home, and your body constantly nags you to “go home,” you can’t help but wonder if silence is, in fact, golden. I stared at my husband, seeing his smug face sitting at his computer as he worked. He didn’t notice I was drilling holes into his head with my eyes. We rarely fought, but when we did, I remembered that my kind-hearted lover had a side that reminded me of my father.

I sat on the couch in our minimalist home with the rug I begged him to buy and the sparse furniture. I picked at the loose string on the sofa, wondering how we once felt so comfortable in the same room and now could cut the tension in the air. The air was stifling, and my body was tense, cueing me to run. I felt like I was in danger; my heart was racing, and my breathing was shallow. I glanced back at him and saw him rubbing his eyes vigorously with a sigh.

My glare softened at this sign of emotion, of exhaustion. I traced my way down his physique, his small bald spot where his kinky black curls were, down the nape of his neck. He needed a haircut. I outlined the silhouette of his shoulders, the ones he had spent seven years crafting to allow him to compete in sporting events. His shirt is a tad bit too small as the sleeves bit into his arms. I looked at his tall frame, scrunched up in the tiny chair I wanted for the dining table. He looked uncomfortable, but still, he sat there every day, learning and perfecting his craft. After assessing him, I realized I had softened, my body was not as tense, and my heart rate was returning to normal. He was just as human as I, and though gentle and even-tempered, even he had a limit. I sighed and decided I could be the one to throw the White flag since he usually is the one to do so.

I quietly rose and grabbed my hair brush and hair spray. He did not seem to move when I was gone, and when I approached him, I touched him gently on the shoulder.

He didn't startle; he glanced at me and saw my small smile, a sign of apology, and I held out the brush and spray. He stared at the objects in my hands, and I waited. Finally, he looked up, and his eyes were sad as he looked into mine. We sat momentarily like that, as we didn't know what to say. He grabbed the hairbrush and walked to the couch, gesturing for me to sit before him. I walked over, uncertain, and sat down tentatively.

He took the hair tie from my hair and let my hair cascade, the curls and frizzy flyaways going everywhere. He let out a small chuckle and softly collected the hair from the front of my face to bring it to the back, his soft touch always surprised me. He took the spray and saturated my hair before brushing, as I had explained previously when he brushed my hair. I closed my eyes, and he touched my wild hair, my favorite sensation when I was anxious. He stopped and hugged me from behind, sobbing as he held me tight. We sat there, holding each other. My husband and I were two people who didn't know how to tell each other that no fight was worth feeling that way. He sat up and finished brushing my hair, as he cradled my chin in his hands and kissed me. There was nothing to say because we already knew: I love you.

**This is named after a song, linked here!**