Loneliness...

... is overwhelming some days.

Some days it is manageable.  

Some days it is easy to ignore.

Some days it is easy to swallow. 

Tonight is not one of those nights.

Tonight it is suffocating.

Tonight it is keeping me awake.  

Tonight I could cut it with a knife.

It started as I was winding down for the night.  

I decided to go to  my room and finish watching a movie in bed.

Probably not the best choice in movies though - "The Notebook."

As I shut off the television in the family room, I made sure the doors were locked and set the alarm.

I could just hear all the silence.

I noticed how I am alone doing all these activities.  

Just me.  

By myself.

Alone.

I went to bed and finished watching the movie.

I was lying in the middle of my bed which is somewhat of a habit now. 

Alone.

With no one else.

I thought of all my friends who are going to sleep with their husbands and wives.

I thought of the characters in the movie who got to get old together and sleep together countless nights.  

Even a lot of my single friends have a person of the opposite sex to rely on.  

And fulfill some of the physical contact.  

Yet I am naked and alone.  

And then I thought my mother-in-law.

She worries about me.  She knows I have great friends.  She knows I have a wonderful support system.

But...

She knows the loneliness.

She knows the suffocation.  

She is a widow too.  

Her husband, Roger's dad, died seven and half years ago.  

She knows the pain.  

She knows how hard it is.

As I turned out the lights and the movie ended, the room was dark.

I looked over to Roger's side of the bed.

Empty.

Cold.

For the last nine and half months, it has been empty {not counting the occasional friend who has spent the night).  

He got up out of bed the morning of that August day expecting to return back following Monday night.  

And he never returned.

Not even for a moment.  

But I have to.

Alone.

Then I remembered one of our night rituals.

It was not every night.

But some nights, Roger would meditate in bed.

He would sit cross legged on his side of the bed.

I would curl myself around his legs.

He hated it.  

He said it was disruptive.

But I wanted to touch him.

I promised to be still and quiet.

I wanted to cuddle with him.  Maybe even absorb some of his meditation.

I would fall asleep.

Tonight, I looked over and I wanted to cuddle around his legs.  

It was such a strong desire.

I wanted to touch him.

But he is not here.  

He is not fucking here.

The bed is cold and empty.  

And I am here.

Alone.

Lonely.