What makes a man, or anyone for that matter, having escaped from a terrible personal hell, willingly dare to step again into that self-same misery, all dressed up in a pretty new guise or slightly less than lovely. Who could ever say, so many take the step repeatedly, taking vows about time periods as long as life and we listen, often disbelieving. How many marriages have I doubted from the get-go, sat among the reception crowd and voiced my gambled guess; six months, a year, three at most, so rarely wrong, yet the worst have often proved the most lasting, people delighting in tormenting one another, vicious beasts, demons released by matrimony, tortures disguised as overzealous caring, annoyed by little things, taking shots from the past, never letting go of pains rendered in distant memories, regrets extended to eternal exaggeration. Lost loves seeming the best loves, roads not taken seeming greener.
Lord Malinov, Song of Songs