We were in the same bed, like we had been for years.
Nothing about it looked different from the outside. Same sides, same routine, same expectation of what that space was supposed to be.
But something was off, and I could feel it.
Not in a dramatic way. Not in a way I could point to and say, “this is what’s wrong.” It was quieter than that. Subtle enough that if I tried to explain it out loud, it would sound like I was making something out of nothing.
But it wasn’t nothing.
The way he touched me felt… disconnected. Like he was doing what he knew how to do, what he’d always done, but without actually being present in it. There was no pause, no intention behind it, no sense that he was actually with me in that moment.
And that’s a hard thing to admit, even to yourself.
Because you start questioning it.
Am I overthinking this?
Is this just what happens after this many years?
Is this normal and I’m the one expecting too much?
But at the same time, something in you keeps saying—no, this is different.
This isn’t comfortable. This isn’t familiar in a good way. This feels like going through the motions.
And that’s where it starts to mess with you, because now you’re not just in the moment anymore—you’re aware of it.
You’re aware that he doesn’t feel fully there.
You’re aware that you don’t feel wanted in the way you used to.
You’re aware that something that used to feel like connection now just feels like… completion.
Like checking a box.
And once that thought shows up, it doesn’t leave.
Because now instead of being in it, you’re in your head.
You’re wondering what he’s thinking.
If he’s distracted.
If he’s comparing.
If this even matters to him the way it used to.
And the hardest part is—you’re right there next to him, and you still feel alone.
There’s no distance you can measure. No space you can point to and say, “this is why.”
He’s right there.
And somehow that makes it worse.
Because you can’t explain how someone can be that physically close to you… and still feel like they’re somewhere else entirely.
And you don’t say anything.
Because what would you even say that doesn’t make you sound insecure or dramatic or like you’re creating a problem where there isn’t one?
So you stay quiet.
You go along with it.
And you carry that feeling without ever actually naming it out loud.
But it’s there.
And once you feel it, you don’t forget it.
Just saying…
Tabby