In an empty apartment

October 14, 2016

I am sad today, because I do not talk enough, share enough, or initiate enough. I am selfish for not trying. But, I replied, I talk less to my husband than you do to me. What does that say?

It might say you think I talk too much and wish I would go away, you answered.

But I don’t wish you would go away. I am fond of your company, genuinely so. You can talk as much as you wish, but you also wish I talked as much, and are disappointed that I don’t.

I can’t match your capacity for intense conversation at such frequency. Maybe once I could, but the past three years have changed me.

I’m sorry.

I am furious, because when you think I don’t get you, you question my comprehension and understanding. I cannot imagine what you’ll say to my latest reply; for the first time I show you your words in black and white.


Am quiet, because life has been a series of phone calls to no one.


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