When he smiles at me, his eyes are dull and empty. When I kiss him, the movement of his lips against mine feels mechanical, almost rehearsed. When we make love, there is no love to be found. I feel nothing from him.

It's been this way ever since our wedding. He hasn’t said anything to me about it. He goes about his day, masquerading as if nothing has changed. On the surface, nothing has.

Perhaps he feels obligated. To me. To his duties. To the Empire. He has always been so steadfast. It's one of the infinite number of things I love about him. 

I just don’t understand why I’m not good enough for him anymore. I don’t know if I ever want to. 

It hurts to pretend like this, but the pain of even imagining the alternative is so much worse.

I lie awake most nights, wondering when he’ll finally tell me. 

Perhaps I’m selfish, but I pray he never does. 

[hr]

She’s my everything. She always has been. Her heart was broken once when I fell victim to that monster, and I would give my life a thousand times over to keep from hurting her like that ever again. It may be over now, but the damage is done.

She wants to pretend like nothing happened. I suppose that makes it a bit easier for both of us. Still, no matter how much time passes, I will never forgive myself. I may never be whole again, but I’ve already accepted my fate. In a way, I deserve it.

I love her. I do. That spark I felt for her is still there. I know it is. I just have to act as if I can still feel it, as if I can feel anything other than hollow echoes in my soul. I need to show her that I still love her, even if I can’t anymore. 
 
So I smile when she needs me to, during the times when I know it should come naturally. I kiss her and hold her the same way I always have, the way I remember from memories clouded with passion. I do everything I can in the hopes that she never learns the truth. I have to. Being with her, even if it’s just a facade, will at least allow her to be happy. That’s all that matters to me, then and now.