Johnson Grass Turns Yellow in the Winter

Johnson grass turns yellow in the winter but other types of grasses remain forever green.

Was it for the money or the wanting of a better life? No, the money was there wrapped up like a roll of one dollar bills in real estate assets. The love had turned into a business. Others didn’t speak so unkind. Was it an awakening to what was and not what should have been? Maybe living in a fairy tale with the picturesque house and possessions wasn’t enough or maybe it was too much.
What you didn’t have today will it have appeared tomorrow? True love, it might have been, but not for us, if it did not come with stipulations and contingencies whispered with every other word of “if you don’t change I am leaving”.
Perhaps the love subsided with every evil remark left in the wake of a eruptous argument, like a belt with notches, a new notch created for every unkind statement. The heart broke with the words emblazoned like a neon sign upon its intended. Retreat and withdrawal into oneself never to be discussed left a gregarious person empty and subdued. In Front of people experiencing the tumultuous relationship will replay like a movie shown over and over. Was it really his way or the highway, no detours, no emotions shown? Apologies remain imprinted on their life as scars remain from riding a bike. She always ushering in the first hoping for forgiveness or some acknowledgement of wrong doings. But was it always her fault, no. Simply two minds who thought differently. Sometimes, the grown over scab can be peeled back to expose the hurt and pain.
Never forgetting what was said but never striking back like a cobra with it’s master who mesmerizes it. Then the years fade, birthdays are obscure and come and go, no present, even to the one celebrating it. Anniversaries aren’t remembered except only by friends who remind them of the important date.Christmas is spent at loved ones and vacations are experienced apart. Was it meant to be remembered? Was it not two people who were wed?
Secretly the heart yearns for more in the wake of forgetfulness or unkindness. Still reeling and recoiling, yet, the grass is still yellow. Will it be seeded to turn green again or left to suffer the deprivation and degradation of weeds growing in its path? Never to experience true happiness found in another soul?
The yearning of more is akin to a tumbleweed spinning out of control in a dust storm, and yet eventually finding a place that it can’t be swept away any longer, it journeys to a different hiding spot, supposedly where the grass is greener. Or so it seems.
Johnson grass turns yellow in winter but other types of grasses remain forever green. The grass is never greener while standing in yellow pastures.

This was about my marriage.