Adrift

I am trying now to figure out how to tell you what has been bugging me without sounding weird or childish or too nitpicky.

You have a temper, a short fuse that I recognise. And frankly, I am too tired to deal with it.

But now that's out of the way, I am going to give this a shot.

In the beginning, you were all about paying me attention. Opening doors, lighting my cigarettes, caring for my every need. Fetching me a drink before I could even ask for one, stroking my arm as we curled up on the couch, kissing me, reaching for me, wanting to turn everything off except you and I, so your full attention could be on me and us.

That was something I treasured most in you. That you desired to be with me and within us so fully, without distractions.

These days, of late, I feel our days are made up of filling holes. Meals, errands, meeting friends for appointments. Rarely do you and I frolick in bed just because, or sit and listen to music and talk.

When we are alone, you become a child, whining for attention. You kiss me with affection, but no desire. You don't reach me.

You are becoming one half of a married couple I am not prepared to be part of.

I want romance. I want passion, like in those first few weeks.

Perhaps I should just give you space. Because you are at a stage or place in your life when you are feeling vulnerable and stressed out at the impending decision you may have to make. I know it could change your life. I know it could mean the end of all your dreams you have clung to with such fervour for such a long time.

What I perhaps don't understand is how this has changed since I first met you. Unless of course then, the newness of us all served as a distraction from your daily concerns. Now I am perhaps just one other layer to your life that you cherish but at the same time feel a responsibility towards.

I know you do not resent my presence. In fact, in a lot of ways, I think I have become woven into the fabric of your daily existence in a way that you have yet to become in mine.

I think I have more doubts about us than do you.

I think that perhaps, given all that I have been through, I question the strength of our bond, and its ability to weather the every day erosion of time and closeness.

Closeness erodes. Distance does too, in its own but different way.

Please stop shouting at me. Please treat me like an adult, one you desire with your passion, your soul. One that you want to make love to and not just share time and space and things and meals with.

I want you to share some joy with me, even in your darkest hour. Or perhaps that is not possible.

Perhaps you really are in a dungeon of despair and I am failing to recognise it.

Perhaps that is what it is.