I'm Dying to Please You (subtite: but you don't want the attention)

I work so hard to earn your attention.  And I keep telling myself to work harder at it.  I try to beat you to all the cleaning and shopping.  Because I want to spoil you.  I rush home and cook lavish meals for you.  Because I want you to relax and enjoy your time at home.

I bring you little surprises.  Buying your favorites snacks.  Hiding them where you will find them later.  I bring your flowers.  I go out of my way to try and impress you.  And when that doesn't work, I resort to trying to shock you.  But it's all in vain.  You really don't care and you just wish I would leave you alone.

I went to three different stores looking for a zipper to fix your favorite coat.  When I couldn't find a matching replacement, I went to thrift stores and dug through racks of coats until I found a matching doner.  The time I had free between cooking dinner, washing all the dishes, and doing the laundry I spent carefully removing zipper seams from winter coats.

Tomorrow I will go out in search of scarlet thread and I will stitch in that new zipper.  I will spend the evening sewing your favorite coat back together.  I wonder if you know how much work that is.  I wonder if you even care.

I have felt so alone lately.  I lock myself in my office and focus on work.  I try not to let paranoia and depression steal me away.  I check the clock all morning, waiting for lunchtime to come so that I can see you again.  To steal a kiss in the parking lot.

I tell you how noisy my office has been with all the surrounding construction.  I know you will want to eat lunch with your co-workers.  I ask if it would be awkward if I join you and your work friends for lunch.  You tell me it would, and you leave me in the parking lot holding my salad for one.

I eat a couple spoonfulls of my lunch and my stomach begins to churn.  I toss lunch into the garbage and stare out the window for a while.  I go out and buy you two floral bouqets, a vase, and some ribbon.  And in my office I carefully peice it all together.  You seem to appreciate the flowers, and it breaks my mood for a while.

But I don't know how to make you laugh any more.  I can no longer make you feel spoiled.  I am a stalker that you cannot send away.  A house guest that you can't evict.  An unwanted friend that follows you around like a lost puppy. 

I sometimes wonder how it will end.  Will there be someone else?  Will my paranoia become real?  Or will you simply tell me that you aren't interested in me any more and that you want to move on with your life. 

As the days go on, I feel less like your husband, and more like a pest.