The Sound of Her Being Here

Tonight, for the first time in fuck, I don't know, a month or two, I'm alone in my house.

I'm trying to remember exactly when Dawna moved in, and frankly, I can't remember the date. I know it's been a while, because she's been here every day, every night, and somehow, without my really noticing when it happened, having her here became the most natural thing in the fucking world.

And goddamnit, I didn't know how much I needed her in my life until she was here.

She's visiting her mom. Nothing dramatic. Nothing wrong. She's just away for a little while, doing something perfectly normal, and I know she'll be back. I'll be fine. I've spent most of my adult life taking care of myself, and I'm perfectly capable of surviving a few nights without another human being in the house.

But holy fuck, I miss her.

I miss the absolute fuck out of her.

And the strange thing is that eight months ago, I would have told you I preferred being alone. Not because I was trying to convince myself of something, not because I was secretly miserable and putting on a brave face, but because I genuinely fucking loved it.

I loved having my own space. I loved the freedom of not having to consult anyone about anything. What do I want for dinner? Whatever the fuck I want. What temperature should the thermostat be set at? Whatever makes me comfortable. What music do I want to listen to? Whatever strikes my fancy, at whatever volume I feel like playing it.

There's a wonderful simplicity to living alone. You make a decision, and that's the end of the fucking discussion. Nobody else has an opinion because nobody else needs to have one.

And I liked that.

I really, genuinely liked that.

But something has happened over the last couple of months that I didn't expect. Something I didn't even recognize was happening until tonight, when the house went quiet and there was nobody else here to share it with.

I've discovered that those little decisions I used to enjoy making entirely on my own weren't really the point.

Or rather, I've discovered that when you share your life with someone you love, those decisions become something entirely different.

They're no longer about the decisions themselves.

They're about living in concert with another human being.

And I don't mean that in the sense of negotiating or compromising or giving something up. I mean that there's something incredibly fucking beautiful about two people deciding together how they're going to experience the ordinary, mundane moments of their lives.

Take dinner, for example.

When I lived alone, deciding what to eat was mostly a question of what sounded good and how much effort I felt like putting into it. Maybe I'd cook something. Maybe I'd order something. Maybe I'd stand in front of the refrigerator for five minutes and decide that cheese and crackers constituted a perfectly fucking respectable meal.

But with Dawna, the question of what we're having for dinner isn't really about the food.

It's about us.

Are we going to get dressed up and go somewhere nice, sit across from each other at a table, and stare lovingly into each other's eyes while some poor bastard waits on us?

Are we going to stay home and cook together, stealing kisses in the kitchen while one of us pours her heart and love into making something wonderful for the other?

Or are we going to hit the fucking easy button, throw something together, and curl up on the couch, tangled around each other while we watch television and pretend we're paying attention to whatever's on the screen?

The food is almost incidental.

What we're really deciding is how we want to spend that little piece of our lives together.

And it's not just dinner. It's everything.

What music should we listen to? Well, what kind of evening are we having? Are we dancing around the kitchen? Are we sitting quietly together? Are we being silly? Are we feeling romantic? Are we just fucking exhausted and happy to be home?

What should we do this weekend? What should we watch tonight? Do we want to go somewhere, or do we want to stay right here and enjoy the fact that we don't have to go anywhere at all?

These aren't burdensome negotiations. They're invitations.

Every one of those little decisions is another opportunity to say, in some small and ordinary way, I want to experience this with you.

And I think that's incredibly fucking beautiful.

I spent years believing that the freedom to make every decision entirely on my own was one of the greatest advantages of living alone. And it was an advantage. I'm not going to pretend I was miserable before Dawna came along, because I wasn't.

But what I didn't understand was how much joy there could be in making those decisions with someone else.

Not because I need permission. Not because I can't decide for myself. And certainly not because I've suddenly become incapable of functioning without another adult supervising my fucking existence.

But because I love her.

And because somehow, choosing what to have for dinner with Dawna has become more meaningful than choosing absolutely anything I want without her.

That's a hell of a realization for a woman who spent so many years insisting she preferred her own company.

And tonight, I'm feeling the other side of that realization.

Because the house is quiet.

Really fucking quiet.

I ate dinner alone. I spent the evening alone. And in a little while, I'm going to climb into bed alone for the first time since she moved in.

And it fucking sucks.

The funny thing is that, if you looked at our daily schedules, you might wonder why I even notice the difference.

I'm gone most of the day. I leave for work around six in the morning, and I generally don't get home until around six in the evening. By seven-thirty or eight, I'm usually crawling into bed because I'm fucking exhausted and have to get up and do it all over again the next day.

So during the week, Dawna and I don't actually spend that many waking hours together.

But she's here.

And I've discovered that here is a much bigger thing than I ever understood.

When I come home from work, I know she's in the house. Maybe she's working on something. Maybe she's cooking. Maybe she's doing one of the hundred little things she does that make this place feel like our home instead of just my house.

I can hear her moving around. I can smell whatever she's cooking or working on. Sometimes I know exactly where she is without seeing her, simply because I've become so accustomed to her presence.

And when I wake up in the middle of the night, she's there.

I can see her in the darkness. I can hear her breathing. I can feel the warmth of her body next to mine. I can reach out and touch her, or simply lie there for a moment knowing that the woman I love is sleeping beside me.

I don't have to say anything. I don't have to do anything.

She's just there.

And apparently, that has become one of the most important things in my fucking world.

Because tonight, she's not.

I came home to an empty house. There was nobody moving around in the other room. Nobody to kiss hello. Nobody to ask about her day. Nobody to make some ridiculous comment to, just because I know she'll laugh.

The house looks the same. The furniture hasn't moved. The walls are still standing. The thermostat is set wherever the fuck I want it.

Everything is exactly the way it was when I lived alone.

Except now, it feels like something is missing.

Someone is missing.

And I find that fascinating, because I don't think I've ever experienced quite this particular kind of loneliness before.

I've certainly been lonely. I've known what it feels like to want someone who isn't there, to love someone who doesn't love me the same way, to sit alone wondering whether the person I'm thinking about is thinking about me.

I've spent plenty of nights wishing things were different.

But this isn't that.

There's no uncertainty here. I'm not wondering whether Dawna loves me. I'm not questioning where I stand with her. I'm not waiting for some message that might or might not come, or trying to interpret what somebody meant by something they said three fucking days ago.

I know she loves me.

I know she's coming home.

I know that when she does, she'll walk through that door and the house will feel right again.

And somehow, knowing all of that doesn't make me miss her any less.

Maybe it makes me miss her more.

Because I know exactly what I'm missing.

I'm missing the ordinary, everyday experience of sharing my life with her. Not some grand romantic gesture. Not a fancy dinner or a weekend getaway or some dramatic declaration of everlasting love.

I'm missing the sound of her being here.

I'm missing knowing that there's another heartbeat in this house that matters to me more than I can possibly explain.

I'm missing the little interruptions, the shared decisions, the casual touches, the kisses in the kitchen, and the simple comfort of falling asleep knowing she's right there beside me.

I'm missing all the things I didn't even realize had become so fucking important.

And that's what really gets me.

I knew I loved Dawna. I've known that for a long time. I knew she owned my fucking heart, and I wasn't exactly shy about telling her.

But I didn't know that her presence had become woven so completely into the fabric of my everyday life that a single evening without her would make the entire house feel different.

I didn't know that the silence I used to treasure could suddenly feel so goddamned loud.

And I certainly didn't know that a woman who once considered herself perfectly happy living alone could find herself sitting in that same house, with all the same freedoms she used to enjoy, wishing she had somebody to argue with about what the fuck to have for dinner.

Not because I can't be alone.

I can.

I've done it for years.

But because, for the first time in a very long time, I don't particularly want to be.

I want the shared decisions. I want the little compromises that don't feel like compromises. I want the kisses in the kitchen and the warmth in the bed and the sound of another person going about her day somewhere in the house.

I want the ordinary, mundane, gloriously unremarkable experience of living my life with Dawna.

And tonight, sitting here alone, I realize that somewhere along the way, without either of us making a big fucking production out of it, my house became our home.

And now I understand the difference.

It's not the furniture. It's not the decorations. It's not even the fact that there are two people living under the same roof.

It's her.

It's the sound of her being here.

And goddamnit, I miss that sound.

I miss her.

I miss the fuck out of her.