I Knew He Didn’t Love Me Anymore

I knew he didn’t love me anymore when he didn’t look up.

Not a glimpse. Not a sly side-eye. Not a nothing.

There’s this split-second of time, you know it, when he is in bed and you’re getting ready for bed, and you’re peeling off more than just the day’s clothes — you’re stripping off that early alarm and that stain you’ll never get out and that fight over dinner — and in that moment you have to decide between sleep or sex.

Sleep or sex. Sleep or seduction. Sleep or crashing your bodies together to prove to each other that even if it’s not okay right now, it will be okay.

He rolled to the right. He chose sleep.

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