the perfect wife

Men say the funniest things at the funniest moments.
This morning he uttered those words, perfect wife.
The word rolled off of his tongue like he was trying it out
tasting it to see if it were bitter or sweet
My face smiled but my heart cried.
I am not sure what that word means anymore.
The last time i was someones wife, well the word to him was prideful possession.
There was little tender love in it. It was a title, not a heartbeat
These days i feel the heartbeat of it. The soft sweetness of it.
But I am not sure who i am, or what i am.
I am the woman by his side, his girlfriend, companion, lover, friend.
He is my heart and my shining north star and my calm port in a storm
But there are not titles. Do we need them? Do we want them?
Yes, yes i do, i want to share his name as i share his bed.
I want to know the feeling of the word instead of it being simply the caption to a photo.
I want to say husband with love and tenderness instead of contempt and frustration.
I know it all is simply a matter of time. But when he says that word it makes my inner brat impatient.

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