Half-whole

I'd rather be sad alone. When you miss someone, you're by yourself. No one else will get it, even if they say they empathize. I don't discount the care that people have given me in regards to this terrible feeling. However, people can't see nor feel the part of you that's lost.

Francis went home on Tuesday (after a five-day vacation here). He helped us move out, he helped me with the chores, with cleaning and moving furniture and waiting for the service people to come out and do work on the house. We were together almost every minute. We bugged the hell out of each other and argued about the dumbest things. We laughed all the time and I tested his patience and talked on and on and on about nothing. We didn't go anywhere special or do anything amazing. We just enjoyed the time being together through pissy moods and fatigue.

So on Tuesday afternoon, as I turned onto my street, I realized I didn't have anything to do. He wouldn't be asleep on the couch waiting for me. He wasn't there for me to hold and laugh at and tease and whine to.

And I felt empty, as if there was a pit in my tummy. It's like I lost something and I know where it is, but I can't reach it.

That night, during the silent intervals on the phone, I hopelessly tried composing myself after crying, because the voice I could feel on my skin everyday is now 3000 miles away.

It's gotten harder for me. A lot harder. No one knows or even asks me seriously how I'm doing. And I don't care to tell the truth that the hardest pain to get over is longing for someone. Because they won't get it.

But I do.

And I'd rather be myself right now. There's nothing worse than being sad and alone.