Stream of Consciousness 2

I don't write when my husband is around. A part of me feels like this is an extreme rift between us, that I should be able share my innermost self with him. But I married him knowing that we were different people who believed different things. On good days I like to believe that down to our core, to the most base and soul deep levels of ourselves, we are the same. I tell myself that that's where it counts. I think about the love we share for our 8 month old son and I feel my heart contract with that infinity feeling. I like to think that our bones match, that both of our bodies were gifted with generous hearts and that our souls were crafted of the same light. I try to forget about the human stuff. The surface level stuff. The little things that shouldn't mean anything but just happen to mean everything. He doesn't kiss me as soon as he sees me anymore. He doesn't brush my hair back from my face. He doesn't reach for my hand while he is driving. He doesn't call me beautiful. He says I should know he loves me without those little things. That if he didn't love me he wouldn't be here. But I see how he looks at our son and I know he'd stay with me even if he hated me to his core. He would never risk losing our son. Its not as extreme as that. He doesn't hate me. But I feel like an old woman trapped in a 23 year olds body. My soul feels heavy. My body stretched and re-molded itself to make room for new life and somewhere along that journey I lost pieces of myself. How can my husband not see me differently when all I can see are the ghost limbs of what I used to be?