Like she used to

I am not quite sure, but I do not think she loves me like she used to. She doesn't kiss me like she used to. Doesn't rest her arms around me like she used to. Doesn't let loose like she used to. Doesn't look at me like she used to. Doesn't even respect herself like I do. Doesn't make love to me like she used to. Still won't sing to me, just like she didn't used to.
I always write in this damn thing when I am sad...why is it that sadness acts as a muse to inspire the soul to write?