For the Holy Road.
His hand in mine.
The way only a wife can erase that line carved deep: worry.
And how I can see the way he needs comfort.
Just a soft place to lay his head in the storm.
When he makes himself vulnerable like that.
Because even Shoulders sag sometimes.
The way God made it.
A man and his woman folding into each other.
And just how the hard things make us.
Hold fast to each other.
To the Line.
When we're hanging by a thread.
He becomes the only thing that keeps us from cutting loose.
And floating out on the wide, unknown depth of the sea.
He is good.
Marriage is good.
The Shoulders becomes stronger still when he is weak.
I give him a place to sigh.