Harry

My husband, lets call him Harry - because he smells like a Harry - bores me. I lie in bed at night, my eyes vacant, staring at the slither of light coming through our Homebase curtains and I wonder: how did I end up here? How did I end up in a bed next to a man I don't love? How did I end up with Homebase curtains and landscape paintings on my wall?

He snores. Christ it drives me crazy. That weird kind of shuffling snore that is neither here nor there. I'm forever nudging him or whispering "shut up" in an exasperated manner and sometimes, for a second, he'll be quiet. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to listen to it at all.

But mostly i do. I listen to his shuffling snore and I let him nuzzle into my hair and it makes me feel sick and then I cry. I cry a lot. Soft, burning hot tears that cling to my face and take forever to roll off my cheeks. I wish for one to roll off and land on his face, so he'll know; so he'll see that I don't want to be here. But even when they do, he doesn't notice.

Most nights I lay in bed dreaming of being with someone else, but I'm getting old now. The lines on my face seem to multiply daily, my body isn't what it was, but mostly - I feel dead inside. I have nothing to give. And so I just roll over and try to sleep.