Lately, James feels like a stranger. We live in the same house, sleep in the same bed, eat at the same table, but it’s as if we exist in separate worlds. We pass each other in the hallways like distant acquaintances, exchanging small talk about work schedules and grocery lists, never touching the things that truly matter.

There was a time when we couldn’t get enough of each other—when his touch, his voice, even the way he said my name made me feel like I was the center of his universe. But now, the distance between us is more than just space. It’s the silence that fills the room when we sit beside each other, the absence of warmth when his goodnight kiss feels more like a routine than a gesture of love.

I miss the way he used to hold me just because he wanted to. I miss hearing him say, You look beautiful instead of just Did you feed the dog? I miss the laughter, the long talks, the feeling that I was someone he couldn’t live without.

Now, I feel like just another part of the house—like the furniture, the walls, the things he walks past without a second thought. I don’t know when we stopped seeing each other, but I know I miss being seen.

More than anything, I miss feeling loved, wanted… noticed.