The quiet bothers me. That eerie quiet of the morning hours.
In the silence, I hear the things I don’t want to hear; the sound of footsteps above my head, sometimes in heels, sometimes the duller thud of heavier shoes. And sometimes, I hear the lack of sound.
I lie in my bed and imagine that unlike me, you’re not hugging pillows to yourselves; you have each other.
I imagine that unlike me, you’re not mulling over your thoughts and fears in your heads; you can speak them out to each other, in that quiet, almost soundless time of the morning, almost whispering but hearing each other still because you’re right next to each other.
And I’m envious.
It’s the intimacy I miss the most. Not you. Not us. The intimacy. It’s what I crave. It’s what I need.
It’s the thought that the things we used to do are the things you’re doing with someone else, and it feels unfair. It feels so unfair.
I try to have the conversations with myself. But it’s not the same.
I think of who else I can have them with, but there’s no one I can bother that early in the morning, no one I want to bother that early in the morning. It just won’t feel the same.
I’m trying to make myself a safe space for me; I really am. Some days, I’m okay. But some days, it’s really hard, and I cannot rid myself of the urge to find a safe space in someone else.
Some days, that’s all I want…
