A letter of sorts from a woman to her lover questioning him about their future.
|They say that a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet. Does that ring true for me?
In the days of the Old Testament, they would have called me a concubine. Not a wife but more than a prostitute, I would have shared your bed and maybe even bore you a child. However, I would be nothing more.
You call me your wife. No fanfare or great ceremony to herald our union. Just years of patience and commitment coupled with the hopes and dreams of more to come.
You tell me how each morning we would wake in one another’s arms enjoying the comfort of knowing that we were destined to be together and how we will live out our days loving each other just as the day we first met.
You say that I am your true love. You tell me that you have never loved another like you do me. You tell me that I am the only one that has earned not only the key to your heart but your respect.
There were others before me. One even got the privilege of carrying your name. She bore you a son. Yet you never loved her. You say you love me, but yet, I am just a wife in practice rather than in name.
Do you truly love and respect me as much as you say? Do you say those things because I have made it so that there is no room for any one else in my heart. Because I am more dutiful than she was. Or is it just because I know the right way to cause you to release?
So is a wife by any other name, still a wife?