He doesn’t know why he loves her like he does, he just does.
She was alive in a way he wasn’t due to his subdued temperament.
Still sharing the same bed, yet more and more time passes silently.
He fails to penetrate the iron gates that enclose her loving heart.
She never even liked him—and never wanted to marry him,
and would have preferred a more outgoing companion.
Over the years, she kept calling him a pest over and over again
as if he was as annoying as a cockroach in her soup.
Every day she asked where he planned to be in their house
in order to park herself in another room to avoid him.
His hurt feeling grew deeper and deeper—sinking the shipwreck
of his heart lower and lower until he felt like he was drowning
in an undertow to the sound of a lugubrious drum.
He could not tolerate being hurt anymore—and quietly walked out the door,
never to be heard from again.