Posts Tagged ‘relationships’

Halfway Through

“I misss youuuu,” I whine as I roll over in my bed, sliding on my new red satin sheets that he finds ridiculous because I’m not a porn star and because sparks of static electricity dance on his long, leg hairs when he turns over.

“I know, I know,” he dismisses.

I know that he misses me too. I know that he knows he’ll be coming home in just under 2 weeks from now, but it still hurts to only speak to me for 10 minutes a day. I know this. I remind myself of this on an hourly basis some days.

Some days, I go 3 hours without thinking about him. I’m busy at work, or worrying about paying bills, or trying to conceive new creative ideas. And then it hits me again: he won’t be home for dinner tonight. You have no plans this weekend. Pick up his mail today. And then that “Oh yeah….” sigh comes over me, and I realize that he’s just not here.

And then I start to wonder if he is thinking the same thing- going through the motions of his day, wondering what he’s missing on my dinner table, how I’m wearing my hair today or if I’m sleeping well. I wonder if my face is slightly fading in his mind as he wakes up each day thousands of miles away from my porno sheets.

I’m in between ok and sadness which is a very strange place to be. I’m almost sad enough to cry, I’m almost ok enough to not write about him.

“I should let you get some rest,” I hesitantly say, knowing that he will agree with me and it will be another 24 hours before I talk to him again.

“Yeah. Busy day tomorrow,” he replies ready to hang up.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he says like I should have already known that.

We hang up. I wait to hear his hands shuffle to find the END button on the phone before I let my cell slide down my face to lie next to me, only to wake me up at 6:55 a.m. to start another day without him. It’s not as tragic as I write, really. Just a fact of life.


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“Do you love me?” I prod.
“Yes, yes of course I do,” he answers.

After a question like that, he usually either hugs me or looks at me funny because he knows I’m a little strange at times.

“Are you surrrre?” I continue.
“Yessssssss,” he sighs.

Getting impatient now, I realize it’s time to turn on the charm and give him hundreds of micro kisses on his stubbled cheek.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” he complains. “That’s very nice of you…”

I continue for a few more than stare up at him with my brown eyes, hoping he’ll crack a smile and laugh at my strangeness. He does. He always does. Sometimes he’ll throw his head back and laugh real hard at some bizarre thing that I have said or some face I have made.

I act even stranger when we’re about to go to sleep. I walk my fingers starting at his belly and whisper…”There’s somethin’ commin’ fer u!” and he asks, “Oh no! What is it?” and I reply with some oddity like “It’s 400 Chinese men dancing on a tower,” or “A mean spider!”

It’s simple, really. I poke and jest, he sighs and shakes his head. The more I giggle the stranger I must look for after all, I am a grown woman behaving as goofy as I did as a little girl. He must enjoy it though because every night it’s pretty much the same thing, unless of course, I transform back into that adult woman, full of worries, anxieties, and panic.

It’s true, it is simple. We are simple. We may like fancy wines, nice dinners, and pretty electronics, but we are simple. We share cheese plates and remark on how much we love cheese. We watch movies and TV shows together, and more often than not, one or both of us is yelling at the TV in protest. We take walks. We drive places. We go to bed at reasonable hours and never skip breakfasts. Sometimes we have dessert. Sometimes we stay in bed late on the weekends. Sometimes I cry and he’s always there to comfort.

“Do you love meeeeee?” I whine in his ear.
“Yes. You know I do,” he says back.
“How much?!” I demand.

He holds his arms out as wide as they can go, a simple gesture, which is something that I should never and will never take for granted.

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