It's another restless night where I don't know what it is I need to say, or should say. Anything would do at this point, but nothing comes out, as usual. I want to talk to you, and I do to an extent. Still, even then my words feel so empty and routine.
It's the same old story, though. The same lines, the same pattern, the same go-around that we always do and it ends the same way: me sorry and you irritated because I've yet again done nothing to change things for the better.
You're dozing off now, looking quite content. You said you were tired, and you flopped over on the bed so that it looked like the weight of the whole day had come down with you. I can't stop watching you, wishing so much to hold you again, to kiss you and tell you I love you as we both happily drifted asleep.
I can say these things, sure, but it's just flattery and adoration, things I always throw your way. But why can't I go on about other things, keep our talks lively and...I don't know, be here the way you need.
But now, here we are, these long times again being spent in silence, only adding tension. Only taking away from our time.