I miss you.
I miss sitting on the couch and watching random, foreign Netflix things, or a YouTube binge comprised of nothing but Warhammer 40k games and painting tutorials. Most of the time, I had no idea how you could sit and watch 3 guys trash talk each other’s dice rolling skills for two hours. I’d scroll through my phone or paint my miniatures, barely paying any attention to what was on TV. But every now and then, one of us would look up at the other and make a kissy sound, or simply say
“I heart you.”
I’m lonely here without you. I find myself saving memes and cute kitty pictures for you, only to remember you’re not here to see them. They were silly, but I loved our nightly “saved stuff” sessions. I loved planning out our weekly dinner menu with you, especially our theme weeks. Now, I cook alone, if I even cook at all. It’s just not worth it to cook a full meal just to sit on the couch for a solo meal.
This week, I started cleaning out the big closet in the Pink room. It was filled with boxes piled on top of each other, each older then the next. Right at the top of the pile was a box labeled “OLD LIFE”. I had filled it during the 12 days you were in jail, trying to force myself to hate you. Inside was everything that represented “us”, our marriage certificate, the shadow box with the cords from our handfasting, wedding pictures.
I pulled it out, remembering the look on your face a couple of months ago when you moved it. You looked so sad as you turned it so the big black lettering wasn’t right in your face. When you put it in the closet, I don’t know. So I put the box aside, in the “keep” pile, even though I have no idea if you want me to keep any of it. I look at the pictures and see a couple of kids, who were
so
fucking
HAPPY.
We jumped into marriage with no idea what a serious relationship really involved. But we had each other. We fought to be together, even when family disapproved of it, and that’s all we needed.
I can’t sleep without you there. I still hate your fan and refuse to use it, but I miss its white noise. The sounds of rainy forests isn’t the same. Even with the cats crowding against me, the bed is empty. I’ve arranged your pillows in a way that I can snuggle against them, which is nothing more than a memory of your presence, but somewhat comforting. Still, it’s too quiet without the sound of your breath against my neck. A couple of nights ago, I instinctively slid my hand under my pillow and reached for yours.
I don’t care what it says about me, but I need you in my world. That’s why I told you to stay at the detention center for as long as you could. I can visit you. Sure, there’s glass between us and the phones fucking suck and it’s only once a week. But you’re there,
right there,
and that’s more than I have at home.
