Some people are simply stuck in hollow marriages
They stopped loving, honoring, or cherishing each other long ago
They share the same living space in sickness and in health
But they feel alone in their own homes
They cling to the promise of “till death do you part”
Like that was the only line of the agreement
They discontinue all intimacy
And sometimes even sleep in separate beds
They tell themselves they are better than their divorced counterparts
And wear their anniversary number like a badge of honor
They take something that is old and empty
And try to convince themselves that they have something beautiful
Some people will admire this from the outside
But in the inside there is nothing there
It exists only for others to observe and admire
Like an old dusty Faberge egg
