Another night, and I've had to get back out of bed. I don't want to wake Gof, he's up early, and I know I will keep him awake if I'm lying there tossing and turning all night. So, wearing the comfy robe I bought him last Christmas, eating a slice of wheat free toast and listening to Nat King Cole, I sit here at 2.50am. This is not the first time I have done this, nor will it be the last. I'd rather sit here, toes slightly cold, than risk not allowing him to fall into the deep sleep he needs to function in the morning. I sit here, knowing that when his alarm goes off, he will hit the snooze button while I creep back downstairs and put the kettle on and make some toast. By the time he's more awake, I will have tea and toast ready for him. I will savour the little time we have, before he cycles to work, and I try to get some writing done, or, more likely, try to go back to sleep.
Even when I know he's not laying beside me, I still feel his presense. I know he'd rather be snuggled up with me, arms around each other, our feet wrapped up together. I lie there and feel loved, knowing he's already thinking about what he can text me about. Sometimes a joke, sometimes asking what we should do for dinner, and sometimes, just simply, an I love you.
I think too much. I think he'd be better off without me. Sometimes, I try to imagine how his life would be without me in it. As if we'd never met. I can't help but think. But I'm aware it doesn't matter. I am in his life, and he in mine. We are together, seperate and equal beings who chose to live our life alongside and with one another. Not absolutely entwined, but close enough, that to the untrained eye, we appear as one. But nothing could be further from the truth.
We are so different. But in knowing him, I have moved from the extreme, towards the centre. I will never be completely balanced (where's the fun in that?!) but I have grown under his care, and without really noticing until the changes set in. He doesn't try to, doesn't consciously mould me into anything I'm not, and I see how I have changed without becoming someone unrecognisable. I'm still crazy, but have much less panic attacks. I still over-analyse, but I trust my instincts more. I'm still selfish, but I think about other people's needs as just as important as my own. I've put on weight, but I still like myself. Infact, there are times I feel downright beautiful. Not sexy, or cute, but beautiful. I've never felt that before.
He looks at me and I'm the only person in the world. There are times I just stop, and think, wow. I'm here. I'm standing in the kitchen, drying dishes with this man, and talking about nothing in particular, and he loves me. My heart beats so hard and I have to kiss him, have to tell him I love him. These wow moments happen so sporadically, but they've never stopped being so potent. Each one is a shock, a tingling in my bones when I feel I'm smiling so much my face will collapse.
Every love is different. I know I've loved before, and I will never regret those loves. But after 2 years, we still seem to be in a honeymoon that shows no sign of ever being over. Before, this would have scared me enough to do something stupid, but no. Not now, not with him. I'm holding on to this for as long as I can.