I have never been good at hiding my feelings, verbally or otherwise.  When I love, you see it. When I hurt, you see it. And everything in between.  There is no mask I don to give the illusion of happy. But, God, I wish there were.

We have been at each other’s throats for over a week. Every other week. And it’s always the same thing. We’re not talking. We’re not touching. We’re not loving or fucking. Maybe it’s me. Maybe my expectations for him to deliver on what he promised are a bit farfetched. Maybe my want and need for an intimate relationship with him is something far beyond his grasp. Maybe he just can’t give me what I want. Nor I him. Maybe love just isn’t enough. Anymore.

I am deeply conflicted. I love him incessantly and he loves me. I suppose. But the connection, if there ever really was one, is no longer there. The chemistry is off. I mean we have our moments where we get along famously, but, more often than not, we don’t. Get along. And maybe it would be easier for me to just pack up and leave if there wasn’t a child involved, but there is and I don’t want to take him away, and I refuse to walk away without him. So what do I do? What do I do with the pain that envelopes me every fucking day? That lulls me to sleep every fucking night? It hurts to talk to him. To look at him. To lay next to him.

 Daily I give myself to this man, to this relationship. And it hurts. And I am tired. And he sees this and knows this yet he does nothing. Says nothing. Instead he sits there. Watching me drown in a pool of my own tears.