Your arms will always be the arms that held the breaking faults of my soul
A woman’s purpose is not limited to serve and be at her husband’s beck and call, it is also not to carry his child or to do the housework all on her own.
A woman’s purpose is to herself and herself alone, if she finds it to her pleasure to be the typical wife then she is fulfilling the purpose of her choice. However, if she finds pleasure in politics, sciences, philosophy, adventure, never say that she is a wasted womb or something less or denying nature what she was designed to be.
She is not created for society, nor for her husband. She is not some property to be dictated, dominated or owned.
She is a wonder, an art, a liquid that languidly deforms and reforms to her wishes.
We perceive things in vibrant hues through moments laced with dreams.
“If it weren’t for the bravery induced by liquor,” she takes another swig “would have I had the courage to tell you how I feel?” amusement bounces in her eyes.
“Honestly? You wouldn’t be able to tell me anything without drinking. You’re too caught up in your world. Careful with everything. Even drunk, you never miss a beat. And, all these?” I gesture to the empty bottles and unopened ones. “Are just excuses.”