I miss you sometimes. Even when I’m laying in bed next to him.
He makes me smile and feel wanted. But sometimes when he falls asleep and I’m staring at the same section of ceiling that I stared at with you, on the same side of the bed that I shared with you, I miss you. It gets quiet and I realize that he doesn’t breathe like you. He doesn’t take up the same amount of space or fit around my curves the same way. He doesn’t wake up angry. He doesn’t get angry with me. He remembers what I’ve asked and when to call. Everything is different.
I lay next to him without knowing his favored childhood toy, where he was a year ago, or his five year plan. I lay without even knowing his brand of cigarettes. I’d lay next to you and know those things. I’d know what channel you’d choose on T.V. and that you would not be interested in a midnight drive out to the beach since you have an important client in the morning. Every morning. I’d know what you’d say before you said it, what you’d choose to wear, what you’d ask me to do before you asked. I’d know that you’d want to spend the bonus on wheels or speakers instead of airplane tickets, and that you wouldn’t taste any vegetables on my plate no matter how much I prompted.
I’d lay next to you knowing you’d rather be on your laptop than watching my favorite movie, and how you’d scoff while not laughing when I make an off-color joke. I’d know where you’re going to be tomorrow, where you’re going to be next month, and where you’re going to be next year. I’d lay there knowing everything about you. I’d know you’d be a steady platform, and a weight on my shoulders. I’d know that you were consistent, predictable, unchanging and would always be on the other side of the bed breathing your familiar rhythms.
Laying next to him, I don’t know what he’ll say or where he’ll put his hands next. I lay next to him without knowing where he’ll be tomorrow, next month, or next year. Without knowing what he’s thinking. I lay next to him with an empty chasm of the unknown between us as our legs and fingers intertwine, and I miss you. I lay there knowing I miss you, sometimes, for the very reasons that I stopped wanting you.