I've been married for thirty-five years. And I don't know if this is a terrible thing to say, but I just… I don't feel anything for him. My husband, I mean. He's a good man, a really good man. Provides for us, always has. And I've always been grateful for that, especially since my art never really… you know. Made a living. But when he touches me, or tries to, I just sort of… stiffen up. I pretend, obviously. Because what else am I supposed to do? I mean, we're almost sixty. It’s too late to just… I don't even know. To what? I think maybe I always knew, deep down. When I was younger, in college, I had a really close friend. Sarah. We spent all our time together. And I remember just thinking about her all the time, wanting to be near her, wanting to just talk and talk. We'd stay up for hours, just… creating things. Sketching, writing poetry. It felt so easy with her. And then my husband, my future husband, came along, and he was so steady, so practical. My parents loved him. Said he’d be good for me, that he’d ground me. And he did. He really did. He took care of everything so I could keep doing my… whatever it is. My art. But I just don't feel that spark, that… aliveness with him that I felt with Sarah. Not even a little bit. And now I’m 58, and it’s just this dull ache, this feeling of… I don't know, missing out? Like I picked the WRONG path. Or maybe I just didn't realize there were other paths. I look at women sometimes, just walking down the street, and I feel this… pull. Not a sexual thing, I don't think. Or maybe it is? I don't know if this counts. If it's even okay to think about. After all this time. I mean, what kind of person does that make me? To just realize, or maybe admit, this now? I feel like I've wasted so much. Like I’ve lived a lie. And I can't tell anyone. Not a soul.