I want to text you. Just to remind you that I’m still here. But then I remember that you know I’m here. You just don’t care.
The day exhausts me, irritates me. It is brutal, noisy. I struggle to get out of bed, I dress wearily and, against my inclination, I go out. I find each step, each movement, each gesture, each word, each thought as tiring as if I were lifting a crushing weight.
Even if we’re married for 23 years,
I still want you to flirt with me.
I can put my phone down beside my bed and pull my two layers of blankets up over my shoulders, rolling over until I face the wall becoming so content and ready for sleep. But as soon as my phone lights up and I know it’s you, I’ll take the chance of being restless just to see what you have to say. Because time spent on you is much more comforting.