Doubt creeps in with the cool of winter.
As you begin spending more time indoors, nestled together like frightened children in a thunderstorm, you feel the distance between you grow. You miss the way they once missed you. The way their eyes would come alive as they dropped their keys on the kitchen bench at the end of a long day. The way they’d turn to you as if only you could quench their thirst.
The familiarity of routine has inevitably rendered your presence ordinary, unremarkable. Much like an old mattress you’d gladly collapse on one night, and throw away the next. While they might still say I love you, you suspect it’s become a reactionary kind of love — an emotional reflex. A knee-jerk response of the heart.
It’s been so long, after all.
Your domestic settling has coincided with a rare time of traction in your respective…
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