The two of them sit at the table and let their eyes proclaim their fears. Their words waver, their sentiments at times difficult to read. And though his hands go through all the motions, hers stay still as granite along the shoreside path. Their back and forth seems almost rehearsed at times, as if a matinee showing of a play that’s been running for years. But that’s not quite fair. There’s real emotion in his words. There’s agony in her silent tears. The table is not sturdy enough to bear the weight of their once hallowed expectations. Yet it’s enough to bear the weight of one hand stretched out to the other reminding once again of that sacred oath. She puts her hand in his and in the stillness lets out a breath. This talking about all the things was good and necessary yet the thorns still tore their clothes. But remember, he says in a low voice now. A cord of three strands. The smile in her eyes says it all.