Every night, we sit at the table,
hard and unmoving between us.
Every night, we quietly eat our dinner,
you scroll through your phone, uninterested.
Every night, I ask about your day.
I sit at attention, praying for more.
Every night, you say, “It was fine.”
Every time, I crave your attention.
Every night, we curl up on the couch.
I sit down first, allowing you to choose where to go.
Every night, we reach towards the table.
Our fingers graze each other, and you jerk back.
Every night, you watch TV, and I read.
I peek out from the pages, but you don’t notice.
Every night, you sit on the opposite side of the room.
Every time, I crave your touch.
Every night, we slip into our cozy jammies.
You face the closet, abstaining from looking.
Every night, I crawl into bed feeling small.
I am unwanted. I am unloved.
Every night, you turn your back on me.
Close enough to reach out, too far away to touch.
Every night, I silently cry, and you pretend to not hear.
I curl inward and wish I would disappear.
Every time, I crave your love.
Every night, I remember how it once was.
I remember your arms snaking around my stomach.
I remember your gentle kiss upon my neck.
I remember whispered words of affection.
Every night, I remember the butterflies filling my belly.
Every night, I imagine what changed.
I imagine you’ve grown bored with my thoughts.
I imagine you’ve grown accustomed to my love.
I imagine you’ve grown weary of my touch.
Every night, I imagine you’ve found somebody new.
Every night, I whisper my apologies.
I whisper, “I’m sorry I’m not good enough.”
I whisper, “I’m sorry I let this happen.”
I whisper, “I’m sorry that I love you.”
Every night, I whisper, “I’m sorry I’m not her.”
