Enough

It hurts to know that he does not love me enough. To try counseling,  to be patient, to care. To care because of me, and not because he feels guilty.

He feels closest to me when I am in despair.

We sat in the hot tub last night, talking, as we do. We discussed the mechanics of
divorce. He said, "I've never even been close to divorce before. Never even
considered it."

I was crushed. Such simple words. 

"You do not love me enough," I replied, "and there is nothing I can do to change that."

He said he was sorry. He didn't look it.

As we lay cuddling under the down comforter last night, I wondered why I
would want to stay. I am not cherished here. I am in the way of whatever it
is he has so recently discovered.

I hate to fail, and this is failure. I am an over-achiever who is not often wrong.
Maybe these wounds are not to my heart, as my sorrow leads me to believe.
His rejection is a slash to my pride, a tear in my vanity, a gutting of my 
unrequited loyalty. 

I do not love him enough.