How strangely we talk, my dear.
Each doing, as fully as we can, exactly what we want to receive. Each waiting vainly for that to be reciprocated. We give; why no return? We speak, but we cannot hear.
And the other, in being given to fully, receives very little. I bring you a list when you come home - see, here are all the things I got done today. Wasn't I so productive?
You are not thrilled. You never wanted me to be productive. No, it is I who want you to give me the list at the end of the day - see, here are all the things I got done.
How poorly I speak that to you. How silly I am. To give you what I want, what you won't appreciate, and wonder why you can't hear.
We speak different languages. You want alone time, I want your company. You want me to relax, I want you to get things done. I don't fully appreciate those ways you love me - in your way - in the way you need to be loved.
How backwards it is.
I need to learn how you speak. And stop speaking to you in my language, but in yours.