I wake up in the morning to my alarm irritating me, dragging me from my warm and cozy comfort. There is a huddled up blanket stealing lump in the bed next to me. I roll over and nuzzle the back of its neck. It is unresponsive. I ask it if it wants coffee and I get the tiniest of nods.
While I'm in the kitchen, making Columbian Supremo, I hear a thud as it rolls out of the bed and on to the hardwood floor, becoming my husband. He pads out to the kitchen and waves hello to me, not speaking yet. He fixes himself granola while I finish up the coffee. We sit at the kitchen table and quietly eat and drink coffee and wake up together. We don't need to talk to each other, and he isn't ready to yet. He needs a bit of time in the morning to see how his voice will be that day before he starts to speak.
We are comfortable with each other, secure in the knowledge that we love each other and want to be together. It is so easy. But all through breakfast I know that he is leaving soon and I am going to miss him. Thats the hard part.
"I love you more than everything" I tell him.
"I love you too."
And then the separation begins where I keep as busy as I can. I go to work, talk to my friends. When I'm done, I get on my little red scooter and ride the five minutes from my job to our tiny apartment. I get home before him and get the house warmed up a bit, the insulation is terrible and it gets cold in there so quickly. He'll call me to tell me he's on his way and I'll make him some Pomegranate White Tea when I know he's nearly home.
He'll come through the door with a call of "Redders?" or maybe "Wiferis?" to which I gleefully reply "Husband!" and scurry through the house to meet him, flinging by arms around his neck and breathing in the smell of him. And I couldn't care less if we go out or stay home, or what we have for dinner, or if we both just sit and work... he at his desk and me on my laptop on the bed, determined to be near him. So long as he is here, nothing else matters.