A minute or so passed by–not long, but long enough to make me wonder whether Oliver was setting up mood lighting or hiding dead bodies. Or if someone was up there waiting to stab me again. Or if someone was up there waiting to hand me a crown and tell me I was the long-lost princess of Genovia. Or if I’d tumble into a pit of lava, only to get saved at the last second by a flying carpet.

Outside the seasons passed: sun, snow, spring green, October storms . . . was this a vision of my future? When would the shunning hero come, to set the clock if my life in motion again? Would he come some morning, or in the night? In April or December? This year? Next year? I shuddered. No, I wouldn’t just sit and wait. I wanted to go out. 
Maybe there were new men out there, better men, men who’d just been waiting for me. Somewhere someone is always waiting for someone.

There is only as much space, only as much time,
Only as much desire, only as many words,
Only as many pages, only as much ink
To accept all of us at light-speed
Hurrying into the Promised Land
Of oblivion that is waiting for us sooner or later.

Marriage is nothing to underestimate. Success in marriage is about getting back up, again and again. Ultimately, the Shulamite had to write her own role in Solomon’s drama. She made Solomon’s problems her problems. For her, that was worth every bruise.
pg ii

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