Where do I start. It's nice to be here alone in the house. So often I am not physically alone, but alone in the loneliest sense, as in ignored, as in alone in couple-dom. Not only is there silence, but subterfuge. It's the little lies of omission that are killing me now. Maybe it's my fault. Maybe I'm hard to talk to, maybe I don't listen... I ask. He just doesn't answer. Maybe I should just ask his mother. He tells her everything, even the things that he shouldn't.

And the lack of talking leads to a lack of trust leads to a lack of marriage. There's no love in a vacuum. And certainly no talking.