Alone

When she was alone, she missed the small things. A touch. The feel of his hand on her back. The almost absent kisses on her head. His leg touching hers as she slept. His breath. Slow and even as he escaped her in dreams. The way it felt hot on her neck. She missed the way he tossed in the middle of the night as she lay reading. Really it was the comfort of having him there. Of knowing that even the isolation of insomnia he was a presence that she could reach out and touch. She often thought at those moments that it could really be anyone who laid there sleeping. It was just the point of having another body in her bed.

During they day his absence weighed less. She enjoyed the lonely days of reading, and writing her papers. The interruptions of a class, a cigarette with the other smokers in the quad, grabbing some coffee in the snack bar, quick chats with various people she knew, were all she needed for human contact during the day. Not having his brooding concern over whether she was his soul mate, his complaints about how much time she spent reading, about her distance from him, about her plans for grad. school, was a relief. She loved making a small supper of pasta and some salad, sitting down to eat in the comfy chair with a book, all alone. Being able to go to parties, to bars with friends, even grabbing a quick meal without worrying about his irritation that she was not spending time with him was another small pleasure. She felt free during the day.

But at night, when she climbed into bed alone, was when the burden returned. For a few days, he had continued to stay in the apartment, sleeping with her. It was unbearable. She cried every night, feeling him so close yet across a chasm that she couldn't not reach. Finally she made him leave. And too often when it was time for bed, she often wandered if it would have been preferable to have him there even at such a distance. She put off going to bed now. She lingered over the rituals: washing her face, brushing her teeth, and then her hair. She invented new things to do: facial creams, plucking unwanted hairs. But eventually, there was no postponing the cold bed. She would have to curl up on the huge expanse, a bed bought for the two of them.

These times brought the loneliness down in unbearable waves. At first, she cried a great deal but eventually she just lay there letting the pain hit her. She felt like there was a great yawning chasm opened up inside her that swallowed, and then magnified the pain back to her. She knew that it was not the actual losing of him that made this pain so great. It was being a lone, yet again. And knowing that with his leaving, another chance, maybe the last chance, at normalcy was gone. He was the kind of guy you married, bought a house with and then had a couple of kids. And there was a part of her that longed for that kind of life. But she also knew that she would never be satisfied with that kind of life. And what she mourned was the loss of that desire.