He stays on that computer for hours now, caressing its keys the way I fondly remember him stroking me.
He doesn't touch me anymore.
I try to initiate intimacy, I try to communicate my carnivorous desire to ravish him.
Still, nothing.
He doesn't even glance at me these days.
Have I done something wrong?
Said something despicable?
Put on too much weight?
Lost too much weight?
Grown my hair out too long?
Not waxed my legs lately?
Am I no longer enough?
I just wish he'd tell me what I've done.
I can take the criticism and hurt, I can, but I cannot take his indifference to my presence. His lack of awareness of me cuts deeper than the steak knife in the kitchen we use for Halloween costumes.
TELL ME WHAT I'VE DONE! PLEASE! I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU LOVING AND VENERATING ME? WHAT HAPPENED TO EVERYTHING WE'VE SHARED?! I NEED TO KNOW WHERE WE WENT SO FAR OFF TRACK!
please let me fix us
YOU ARE READING
When He Stopped Listening
Short StoryWinner of the 2016 Anti-Watty Awards. his eyes glazed his tea grew cold his calloused hands trembled he gradually stopped listening to me he never came back
