When I think of being in love, of being with the person I love, I think of being complete. He may not make me perfect, or even close, but he makes me feel whole, like the part that was missing is finally there. He completes me. So if I don't complete him, he must have just settled. For the gal who was there, whom he can talk to, who's a good friend. Maybe this is why I never felt he had passion towards me; he doesn't, we're just friends who live together, have sex from time to time, talk together, and made a couple kids. I hope not, I love him too much to think he's missed out on who he was meant for.
I hurt. I'm going to go now, resume my duties and make lunch, finish laundry. When you read this Hon, please don't respond online – I can't bear it. Anyone else, feel free to tell me I'm being an ass, or a drama queen, hormonal maybe. Just don't tell me I'm right.