This building will never be our home. It will always be his home. I just reside here and do the cooking, cleaning and other necessary things. I don't have people over, I don't make the schedule, I merely exist for whenever he gives me any of his time. He can do waht he wants, when he wants, have friends over.....whatever. I'm like some puppet or better yet, a dog waiting for its owner to feed it, to pay it some kind of attention, whether it's the kind it wanted or not.

Why am I so desperate? Why can't I find happiness here? Why does he want me to do so much to make this place my house too only so that I can be reminded it's just a building.

A HOME is WHO makes the building a HOME.

:(