I want to tell you, but I don’t know what. I want to feel you, but I don’t know how. I lay with you night after night but am unsure what to do. The confidence I had 20 years ago has vanished and I am nervous and insecure and timid. Most times, we don’t see each other. We exist and function and live our lives separately, together. The heat and passion we knew, I still want. I think you do, too. But you are just the same as me, unsure and unwilling to be rejected. Uncomfortable in our own skins, we long to be comfortable touching the other. There is no desire, at least on my part, for any other. I am confident you feel the same, but am hesitant to conclude it solidly. We are both are tired and frustrated most of the time. Not necessarily with our relationship but with the tedium of life itself. The routine of the days, the familiarity with which we perform our duties of motherhood and profession, leaves little energy for investing in our romance.
I wish it weren’t so. I wish I had the courage I once had. If I did, I would come up behind you as you work in the kitchen, or at your desk, and kiss your neck, stroke your hair, tell you all the things I think in the dark of night while you sleep. The things I don’t dare speak while your eyes are upon me. I fear, too much, the pain of rejection. The look you have when you don’t feel the emotion but know how much it means to me and how difficult it is to bring myself to try.
My heart is heavy and my mind is tired. As I write this, you are but mere inches from me. I want to lean into you and kiss you, but worry that you will be bothered. Or feel pressure to respond in a way that you don’t wish to. What should I do? How am I to let you know how much I still love you and want you?