things left unsaid

I’m not sure why you’re punishing me and I’d like you to stop. I’m tired and I don’t know how to react except to be myself. I know you’re trying not to show it, but your quiet resentment comes through in more ways than you know. And it’s that that’s making me worried. Because you won’t talk and you won’t tell me the things you think I should already know. Your coldness is unusual (and, I would argue, undeserved), and it’s making me wonder how we got here from where we began. And the beginning was pretty beautiful.