We live in the same house. That’s where the similarities end. The line between us is a literal line. A broad, red stroke from a wide brush, painted straight through the center of the house.
It gets tough, sometimes. I have the kitchen, she has the bathroom. I’m on the couch, she’s in the kingsized bed. She has to go in and out of her bedroom window, the front door and garage are mine.
Negotiations for use of facilities not normally accessible got…creative.
Sex on the dinette. Red line through her torso; head on her side, legs dangling on mine.