A marriage is a long story to tell. It’s a continuum with moments of drama, periods of stupefying boredom. Passages of tremendous hope. One can never tell the story of a marriage. There’s no narrative that encompasses it. Even a daily diary wouldn’t tell you what you want to know. Who thought what when. Who had what dreams. At the very least, a marriage is two intersecting stories, one of which we will never know.

A Weeding in December. Anita Shreve.

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