SassyBlonde

I miss D.

There's no two ways about it-- one of my least favorite things about doing these tours is being away from him for weeks at a time. After about twenty days of enforced separation I start to crave contact with him like it's a drug, that closeness you get with another person curled up in bed like two cats, or leaned over to sleep on a shoulder on the sofa. There's nothing overtly sexual about the kind of contact I mean-- I'm not talking about sex itself. I mean the kind of intimate contact you can only share with someone who knows you really well-- the product of time and care and mutual understanding. The kind of relationship where you can not only sleep with someone in the sexual sense, but sleep next to them in the bed all night. Intimate contact that connotes intimate knowledge and ownership of that other person's personal space.

I actually opened my eyes from sleep this morning feeling sad and lonely and wishing for his presence. It brings back memories of our college days when we were on different sides of the country, flying back and forth on weekends to see each other and hustling to find plane fares that wouldn't leave us surviving on Ramen noodles (this was ten years ago, back in the days of $199 Southwest round-trips.) After a couple of weeks apart I would start to dream of holding him and wake up clutching my pillow like it was my own personal salvation. When I woke up this morning, I laid in bed, still not able to place what day of the week it was, and counted down the days until I'll see him again-- eight days. Eight days of bone-deep yearning that you can't talk about to anyone, just try to damp down and survive. Eight days of feeling like half of a whole.