!

each crack gets a little bit wider, a little bit deeper, each time you scream at me.

it feels like a thunderclap, and my shoulders would hunch up and i would fight back tears and just squint my eyes for a nanosecond.

in the silence, after your voice has quieted down and the ringing has disappeared from my ears, there is a somewhat convincing justification that tries to comfort me with half-acceptable reasons for your outbursts..

stress..

my nagging voice..

lack of sleep and exercise..

i dunno… maybe even comparing me to the other women you spend time with.

then you sit there quietly, and try to utter some insignificant word explaining why you had such an outburst:

“kulit”

“naman”

“paulit-ulit”

“kasi”

and i just retreat back into my head and scold myself for angering you.

then i look at you and see you as the little boy that you are. that you just need understanding — the type that only saints are capable of. that you just need patience — the magnitude that only martyrs are capable of.

sure.

why not.

i can be a saint. and i can be a martyr too.

anything for you.