I love being single. Almost everything about it brings peace and joy to my world. Not only can I stretch out in bed, but I don’t have to worry about any nocturnal sound which may emit from my body as I sleep. I can use the entire closet and both dressers. I can come and go as I please without worrying about anyone else’s wishes. And I’ve finally learned how to enjoy dating. Yes, being single is an amazing way to live.
And yet, I do miss parts of being in a relationship.
When he yearns for me so much that he interrupts our walk downtown to press me against the rough outside wall of a building to surprise me with an eager kiss. Having him find me in the kitchen to greet me after a long day, whispering urgently in my ear, “I thought of you today,” and feeling exactly how much he wanted me, the preparation of dinner interrupted for a while. Feeling skilled hands slide up and down me in the shower, our bodies wet and hungry.
Waking to find a strong arm wrapped around my waist, his long, naked body curved against mine. Snuggling on the couch to watch some horrible move, laughing at it together. Holding hands as we walk through the fair. Sneaking kisses in the condiments aisle at the grocery store. Sitting in his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, and crying on his shoulder when I found out a loved one has died.
Sharing our troubles in the quiet of our room as the evening grows late and our eyes grow tired.
Discussing our dreams and goals while on a Sunday drive to the mountain. Enjoying private jokes that mean so much to us and nothing to anyone else. Rejoicing in each other’s victories, and supporting and encouraging each other through our defeats.
Knowing he is always there for me. Having someone I can count on. Being loved by someone.
I have never experienced any of these things, yet I somehow miss them.