Another Beginning, I think

[title pending - something to do with "missing"]

“His snoring keeps me awake,”
She told anyone who asked
Why she slept on the couch.
It was less bitter
To be physically separate,
Than to consent to the
Wordless, untouched distance
In the bed.

The actions that divided them
Became rote, mechanical, habitual.
Each day was the same,
Though with fewer conflicts
And fewer one-sided conversations.
She stopped talking at him.
She stopped asking for him,
For his interest.
“I think it,” she’d heard him say
Too much. It was too much.

She wondered, never aloud,
What she would have to give up
If she could take it all back now.
Then, though, she thought about
What she could regain.

(This is totally unfinished. I'll keep working on it and post it again if I get anywhere...)