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I feel as though everything I do for you,
or want to do with you,
means very little to you.
It seems that for you,
life is meant to stay within the basics —
the familiar,
the regular rhythm of days.
Poems, intimacy,
and even my love for you
feel meaningless in your eyes.
You don’t want to hear
“I love you”too often,
yet saying it matters deeply to me.
You rarely say it first,
and sometimes when I do,
there is no reply.
I suppose that is simply who you are.
You don’t desire intimacy very often.
This morning, it wasn’t a lack of time —
it was a lack of want.
Perhaps I didn’t stir desire in you.
Perhaps I no longer know how.
We travel the same road again and again —
sex does not feel important to you,
at least not with me.
Maybe it reflects how you feel about me.
I don’t know.
I suppose that is who you are.
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Last week, I wrote two poems.
I tried to show them to you —
you looked at one.
I’m unsure what it meant to you,
or if it meant anything at all —
as with the others I’ve written before.
My hope was that through these words
you might better understand me,
and my longing.
The other poem still waits
for you to ask.
Whether you ever read them or not
doesn’t seem to matter to you —
perhaps that is why you don’t write to me.
This does not excite you.
And again,
I suppose that is who you are.
The hardest part
is that right now in my life,
I am not handling rejection well.
Each time I feel pushed away,
it cuts deeply —
because even though I am not working,
I know in my heart
that I am not abusing your love.
I also know pretending
would only hurt us both.
So, I am left asking —
What do I do?
What do I do now?
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