Dissatisfaction

         She ripped the dust jacket off the book as she always did, annoying me to no end.

With each passing day it seemed everything she did was designed to irritate me. The way she talked while she ate, or twisted her hair when she was

tired or bored. All the little things that I used to think were endearing became like fingers on a chalkboard in my mind.

         When I first met her she was sitting in the park reading a book of poetry. I thought she was exotic and worldly. We spent hours discussing

everything from the state of the world to the worst names for dogs. I thought she was charming, and a stimulating conversationalist.

         Eventually our relationship grew from one of mutual admiration into friendship, then love. It seemed as though our hearts beat as one, our minds

perfectly in tune with the others thoughts and feelings. We were ecstatically happy and so wrapped up in each other that the world ceased to exist for

us.
         I look back over the years of our relationship and try to see where things started going wrong. When did I stop thinking she was the center of my

world? Try as I might I cannot pin point one moment that changed things. It seems a hundred little things just started adding up until here I sit

today...wanting to scream at her for removing the dust jacket from a book.

         I wonder do I annoy her as much, or is she still content with our life? Does she realize that I sometimes look at her with utter loathing, or is

she blissfully unaware? I sit here now wondering what she is thinking...I used to know just by the look on her face.

         I think about telling her I want a divorce, that I don't love her anymore. I want to be free to find that first in love feeling again. Then I think nobody
else knows me like she does, so I sit quietly by the fire and say nothing at all.





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