When I look around, it’s as if I can track my wife through the house. If it was anyone else’s shit, my obsessive-compulsive personality would have forced me to immediately tidy up. Everything has its place. Except Tara. And her stuff, apparently. My wife doesn’t just “fit” into a specific slot in my life. She has taken it over completely. And it never even crossed my mind to do away with her things. It’s almost like… like I like seeing her crap everywhere. In the house. Our home.
