It’s 2 AM and the house is so quiet you can hear the hum of the fridge downstairs. Or maybe that’s just the hum in my head, the one that never quite stops. My wife is asleep next to me, breathing those soft, even breaths she always does. She’s a good woman, truly. Kind. Never a harsh word. And she’s comfortable, you know? Like a favorite old armchair. We built a life, made a home, raised the kids who are grown now and mostly flown. She likes my woodworking, always has a compliment for whatever I’m messing with in the garage. But sometimes I look at her, at the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and it hits me, like a cold splash of water: this isn’t it. This isn’t the… *fuego*… I always thought I’d find. I remember being younger, full of that ache for something incandescent. Something that would light you up from the inside out, make you feel utterly seen, utterly known. I thought love was supposed to be a wildfire, a force of nature. Instead, I chose the cozy hearth. And for so long, the warmth was enough. More than enough. You get busy with the daily grind, the school runs, the fixing things, the quiet evenings watching telly. And somewhere along the line, you forget what you were even looking for. You just… settle into the comfort. But now, with the kids gone and the days stretching out, it’s like the volume on that old yearning has been turned up to eleven. It’s loud. And it’s screaming. Am I the only one who did this? Who woke up after decades and realized they built a beautiful, sturdy house, but forgot to put a window facing the sunrise? We humans are so good at convincing ourselves that 'good enough' is 'everything.' We trade wild passion for predictable peace, don’t we? And then we look around at the quiet suburban street, the neatly mown lawn, and wonder where the hell all the wonder went. And the worst part? The ABSOLUTE worst part is the guilt. Because she deserves better than a husband who’s just… comfortable. She deserves someone who burns for her, not someone who’s just a steady ember. Anyone else out there secretly wishing for a lightning strike, even if it might burn the whole damn house down? Or am I just a terrible person for even thinking this?