For better or for worse

My better self smells like aftershave, the expensive type from the store with symbols as letters.

My better self talks with vindication and nods politely when it hears mistruths.

My better self drinks red, when it wants to drink black because it’s had a red day.

My better self sways a tired child to sleep, a moment to rest its own eyes.

My better self says yes when it feels like saying no.

My better self rests my head to sleep when I cry into its chest, that I have not done my best.

My husband.

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