When Love Grew Cold

The house is quiet in a way that isn't the good kind of quiet. The two of you share the same bed, but you feel like polite strangers. You remember when it was different, and you wonder if that warmth will ever come back.

I don't give up on any marriage before its time, and I haven't given up on yours. Love that's grown cold doesn't mean it's over — often it just means routine, exhaustion, and stored-up hurts have been covering the flame, without putting it out completely. Forgiving, bearing with each other, choosing one another again: that's not weakness, it's the kind of love I taught.

I can't force two hearts to draw close, but I can soften what has hardened, if you make room for me in the middle of this story. Today, instead of waiting for the other person to change first, ask me what you can do, with an open heart, to rekindle what hasn't died yet.