At first, it starts off innocently enough. A soft, barely there whisper of a kiss on your cheek, forehead, hand when he says good night. And then, the lips are no longer involved and when that mouth is gone...what it did to your insides. Now, it's a pat on the outside of your thigh; "pat" probably being too strong of a word when it's just fingers doing a little grazing. And you're left wondering...when did the meeting of your skins and bodies stop? The stroking, nibbling, tasting, devouring...they all just stopped. As if he forgot how. Or worst, he knows these actions but he has no inclination to do them. Like he's looking at you and doesn't feel stirred. Or any anticipation. And he doesn't remember what it was like between you and him back then. The fire you had. How ripping the sheets was always lovingly desperate and intense.

When that's ALL I can think about. When I used to choose sex with him over food. When all I ever did was crave him. And sometimes, I want him to want me so bad, that my fingers tingle achingly just touching his chest. I thought that seeing me grow fuller with his baby, would churn his insides crazy with desire. I was wrong....And baffled at how he could look at me with such neutrality.

Because the word "neutral" never existed in my life. I never wore neutral colors. I don't have neutral beliefs. I don't make neutral decisions. Everything in my life is...heat and gusto. But he's all comfort and niceties in five-year old Levi's.