I stare at you across the room. Do I still love you? Am I just with you because you have my kids? I think a part of me will always love you because you are their mother. Some would say this doubt means I don’t, but what do they know about how complex my feelings are? But you hurt me babe… with your neglect, apathy, and your lack of desire. You don’t care about being sexy, or showing me that you want to be touched. My advances on you are met with discouragement and denials. My encouraging words are met with laughs and dismissal. How am I suppose to keep going like this?
I want to feel loved again. I’d practically take any women off the street at this point… to let me lay my head down on their lap so they could comb their fingers through my hair. When I kissed them, I could feel the sharp intake of breath. When I touched them I could feel their body press against mine wanting to wrap around me. And when my hands wandered, it was met with your own wanting even more. But you don’t do any of these things, nor have any interest. I’m tired of trying and talking to you about it. I think I know where to go from here.