I can count the days now, till you will be back. It is three weeks - only three weeks, when you think about the fact that we have stayed apart for six weeks already. It seems a little less than forever. Which means I can write now about all that I miss about you, that I'd put off writing about because I didn't want to dwell on it.
Yet what do I write, where do I start? What do I not miss? I miss your very presence, the physical space you fill. I liked, at first, having the whole bed to myself, but now it seems too empty, and I miss your body staking out its claim... on the bed, and on me. I miss your smell, that I can't describe and don't even remember very well but that made me feel at home, snuggled up to you. I miss, yes, I miss sometimes having breakfast ready when I get up in the morning, or my lunch cooked and packed - did I tell you I still can't manage to close the lunchbox right? I miss perhaps most of all, having a bad moment - or an exciting one - and not being able to call out or call you up right away, because I don't want to disturb your sleep. I miss not being able to rest my head on your shoulders at the end of a weary day, and to let my tears fall on your body. I miss not being able to reach out and touch you, to pull your cheeks or your ear, to stroke your arm, to hold your hand - do you realise how often I do that?
All this seems almost like a dream, a faint memory... have you been away that long?
I miss sitting by you while you drive and I think or talk, or dance or sing along to the music. I miss spending most of the weekend talking to you, usually arguing over nothing, over ground we have walked over and agreed upon long ago.
I won't miss you any more than usual tomorrow - after all, it's just another day. As you always say, it wasn't on this day that we got married, it was on the day that came many months before when we decided we wanted to share our lives with each other.
Forgive the incoherence of this post - I'm a bit befuddled by drugs and theGuysickness.