After having seen the frustrating Blue Valentine, I've been meaning to write a review on it. Seeing that I don't have the time at the moment, I'll point to a beautiful, eloquent piece of writing by Tasha Cotter posted on The Rumpus instead (via The Daily Dish). Read the whole deal (it's a quick read, promise), but here's a sample:
At this point I say nothing, which I know is wrong and unthinkable, but I keep imagining myself a shore, and he is a shore and an ocean is crashing against both of us. Nothing is sticking; everything is in flux. Language is somewhere in that water I want to stop and the only way to find words is for the water to leave me with the right shells and the shells are language. I think, Let there be an I missed you on the sand, a love, or at least an it’s been way too long. Let me find something here. But everything is blank. The beach and my mouth are failures. My husband is a beige coast. The water in my brain rushes in and out. I see myself see myself. I wait and try, but the water leaves me with nothing.