I get home and you don’t look like the person I remembered. You are hard and angry. You make no effort to be anything else.

You think I blame you but I don’t.

I just see you as you are. And I reflect back what I see. Hard anger without any romance. Frustration. Disappointment.

You ask if I’m upset with you. How can I tell you? Do you really want to know?

I’m not sure I understand the point at the moment and just say I’m reading. But the ink and paper is useless on my mind and I go to sleep. And later when I find you sleeping on the couch and ask you back, I think maybe this is a restart.

It’s not. We just go back to sleep. Except I can’t sleep.

I’m here in the dark, writing this, while everyone sleeps.

And I’ve only been away two days.