I have a lovely marriage. It is full of good things and presents a nice image. Yet, in reality? it is chilly, devoid of growth, and splotchy. They are an image I wish was not.
I love books. I read too much and from those books, expect too much. I have been told that the books I read are inappropriate and others say those books are not reality. Well, of course they aren't real. I've never met a dragon shapeshifter or a sweet werewolf or even a hard working family who eventually marries into wealth. I know very well kisses are not often accompanied by touches that turn someone to molten liquid. I totally get curves in books are not the curves on my own body. I fully realise images I see and stories I read are complete fabrications (or close to them!) from an author or photographer's imagination.
I rarely hope or dream or imagine things other than fiction. This summer, I did. I hoped I could come back to my marriage and find passion or desire beyond duty or 'just because'. I've only been back a couple of days. Perhaps I am not trying hard enough. Or maybe I am trying too hard? Maybe, I should just enjoy the water and not completely enjoy the more I've found. (a post I've been working on writing!)