Free Write: Quiet Dreams

I imagine being married to a kind man. We live in a house. I am in the living room with my child. I look down at my child and the feeling of loneliness overwhelms me, and I’m at a point in my life where I know it will pass.

The house is warm and the windows are all open. The windows are open. The air is clean. The house is clean because I cleaned it. It will be messy soon because that’s the way the day rolls. Dishes pile up because food is being cooked, served, eaten. I let my child paint all over the table. There is paint on the floor. She has it all over her face. She likes the color green and begins to smear green paint on her hands. She is me and this man.

God gave me something I already knew I would have. A dream fulfilled. This is a tangible dream, I like to think. I have a simple life. Love lives within the loneliness. Loneliness is a relative who comes and goes. I have to be alright with this fact. I am alright. The door opens. He is tall and kind and warm. We fight about time. We fight about plans. We fight to keep balance. You need to fight sometimes. I feel useless because I listen to too many podcasts about being productive. I am a woman not productive enough despite being able to produce a child. To protect a child. To maintain a household when the hunter is gone.

What is feminism if motherhood is forgotten. What is feminism when the role of wife is forgotten. What is feminism when the existence of a woman’s desire is overlooked and overshadowed because it doesn’t look right. It doesn’t fit the part. It doesn’t match up with the times. It takes up too much space. It’s been done before. It’s riddled in privilege and the American Dream. But what if this is my dream and my dream only. What if this is my story and that’s all there is. I don’t want to live in a box. I want to live in a home and dance to the sound of a toddler singing and a man talking, talking, talking about now and forever and this and that and more dreams and more kids with green paint stained all over their clothes. There are dishes in the sink because I do not want to wash them. There is paint on the table because that is art.

I imagine being married to a kind man. We live in a house. I am in the living room with my child. I look down at my child and the feeling of loneliness overwhelms me, and I’m at a point in my life where I know it will pass.

-Mae

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