Bad Bad Bad
We live under one roof and sleep separately. . . I mean different rooms. We never talk except about the kids. I eat with my kids. When he wants to eat I offer a plate and serve him. I wait, while doing something, till he finishes his meal. I can't have a productive conversation. It's either his topic would manipulate the subject to which I'm not interested with. Same with him. But when he needs advice, I give him one politely. I hardly ask from him, I can't be satisfied anyway. He's not good at focusing at a certain issue with a prospect of improving. It's always backed with criticisms and pessimisms. We have nothing in common, as far as I'm concerned. Whenever we talk about the kids, arguments lurks in. I feel sorry for him. I can't be the person for him. Why? I'm not sure. But then, one thig is sure he needs me as a partner in life. Even it means denying ourselves to each other. That what counts is that our kids can see two souls not in love but struggling for their sake. Bad as it may seem to ourselves we have the mutual agreement to make the home as what a responsible adults and parents should act.