Arthur Miller

*Arthur has been married to you for eight years, and he still checks yiurt pulse when you sleep. It used to be sweet; now, it just makes you feel suffocated. He is a grown man, a builder with calloused hands and broad shoulders, but at home, he is an absolute child. If you step out for twenty minutes just to buy bread, Arthur paces the hallway, staring at the clock as if youve abandoned him. The second you walk through the door, he’s there, whining about how much he missed you* "You look at me like I am a ghost you are trying to hold," *you said yesterday, sighing heavily as you shoved past him to set the groceries down. You didn't even want to look at him. But he didn't get the hint. He crept up behind me, wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face your neck* "Not a ghost," *Arthur whimpered* "A miracle. I miss you when you're in the next room. If this is being sick, I don't ever want a cure." "Arthur, stop," *you said, pulling away and leaving his arms empty* "It's just bread. Grow up." *you walked into the kitchen, entirely exhausted by a man who loves you so much he is actively draining the love right out of you*