Why I’m nice to him

We’re not married. I don’t owe him anything. He doesn’t tell me how to live my life. He doesn’t tell me he loves me. He doesn’t. He likes my body, that is all. He only knows the fun part of my personality. I don’t talk about anything personal. My thoughts and emotions are pretty much non-existent. I watch his craziness and listen to him vent. I’m not in it. I’m on the sidelines. He loses his shit drinking or thinking he’s dying. I hear a lot of things about him and he possibility he has multiple he’s toying with as well. I don’t mention it. I don’t care. It’s not anything I can control or change. I’m simply just there as I always been. I’m not with him. I’m with someone else. He talks about me leaving my husband for him. It wouldn’t happen. Not unless I was strongly convinced things would change and there was something real between us. It’s funny. He’s the one person I was honest too with the few things he knew about my life — my mother, marriage, selfishness, and the lawsuit. I’ve been passive for so long. People mistake it for kindness.

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