An excerpt.

“But my favorite love is the lamb-to-the-slaughter kind. Because it’s the most vulnerable, the most real.

It’s the groom who waits as his bride throws all possible profanities at his face. He holds her and she hits him but he says “I do” anyway.

It’s the wife who forgives even after her husband’s heart has wandered beyond all possibility of coming back. He makes a promise, breaks it again and, as a final act of betrayal, runs away. But she forgives him anyway. And she waits by the window, watching the seasons pass, even if all her friends think she’s the biggest fool on the planet. She holds on to the smallest grain of hope for his return; she waits.

It’s the man who takes the blame, who feels the whip on his battered back, who carries the cross, who climbs the hill, who lays on wood even when he has done no wrong, just because.

It is devastatingly kind and gains nothing; nothing at all besides the simple pleasure of emptying itself out.”

(Source: everyday-isa.com)