Our schedules don’t jibe; we’re a balky engine that misfires. You’re rested and eager to talk when I’m coming off a hard day and just want to put my feet up. I sense you’re less willing to let out slack. You want a give and take, test our bonds.
My affection for you lingers—habit is a strong odor—but I want more. I want that tightness in my chest, that quickened pulse, that emotional onslaught. It is gone now; that erosion didn’t happen overnight. It will not suddenly reappear like the glare of a headlight.
Our separation, sadly, is arriving.
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