Welcome tyranny

He ruled over her. And the time and space between them. He ruled with routine, with a hierarchy of priorities she had learned to defer to. There was not much room for negotiation, or even pleas for that matter. His was the hand of logic and an extreme rationality that belied his claims of sentiment and affection. His affection itself was like the summer rain, intermittent and harsh. His will condemned, even stymied, her impulse. His spontaneity was prisoner to his practiced principles, she could not recognize it even in its rare moments of nakedness. His decision often hung like a veil between them, delicate yet perceptibly forceful in its permanence. His joy wrapped her in a new beauty each time; but naturally this cloak was not hers to keep, it heartlessly melted at her accidental touch. His anger silenced her, a muted wait for a kinder word and a softer countenance. His presence was the morning sun blinding her eye. His absence was the brutal chill of the December wind. His rule is here to stay, real and final.