Sunday, September 20, 2009

What I miss.

Sunday is by far the hardest day of the week. I know some of you would have figured it to be Saturday night. The night to go out and usually dance till the ugly lights came on. There is most certainly some of that. No doubt. Sunday though...that's the killer. Rainy Sundays actually. There is a pain in the chest. A closing of the throat. So may fresh tears shed. Nothing hurts more than a rainy Sunday.

You see, that was the day. To just be together. There are things that couples do. Routines they fall into. Habits get formed. Especially after a long period of time in a relationship. Hanging out with someone for 8 years...four of them being intimate...well, there's a whole lot of habit and routine to adjust to no longer having. I don't struggle with all of this nearly as much on any other day of the week. The loneliness always shines so bright on Sunday.

When you love someone, truly love them...the simplest act can be transformed into a moment. Waking up to him making me breakfast in bed. After breakfast we would usually climb back in bed to watch movies. Especially if it was raining. It got to the point over time where he would say it before I could. "Look baby, it's a rainy Sunday." There is something so delicious about cooking with the one that you love while your favorite set list plays in the background. Sharing a bottle of wine. Sitting on the couch together while he played with my hair. It was comfortable. Sexy. Romantic. It

There are so many Sundays to choose from when you have that long of a time together. Those long Sunday drives with the top down. Destination nowhere and that was perfectly fine. Reading together at the coffee shop. Picnics under a tree. Laying together in the hammock we picked up in Puerto Rico. Reading in bed together, both of us in our glasses. Pizza from our favorite Italian hole-in-the-wall. Dinner with his parents. Me cooking at my place for the entire Puerto Rican clan. Him teaching her how to dance while she stood on his feet. Laying across his chest when I was falling asleep.

So these last 51 weeks of Sundays have cut through my heart. There have been so many sunsets and rainstorms and dinners and songs and stories that I wish with all my soul I could have shared with him. So many quiet beautiful moments lost. So many gentle touches and warm looks; opportunities that have just...passed us by. Does he wake up on a rainy Sunday and think about any of it? Do I cross his mind? I think the worse part is that I know the answer to that question is yes and it doesn't matter anyway.

Simply put, I know that over time the pain will subside. The memories will fade. And I hate that I'm afraid of that happening. Why do we build these beautiful relationships and memories and then have to sit by and wait for them to fade away? It all feels so sad. What was the point of it all? All I know for certain is that at this moment, on this particularly low Sunday, being with him is what I miss.

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