Originally Written March 23rd 2005

I used to think, intellectually I suppose, that the hardest moment to survive after you left was trying to go to sleep that night. That moment right after all of the bed time routines are complete, the extra calendar days scratched off (I usually skip that part when you're here--crossing those multiple days off and remembering why I was so happy that I had forgotten to do them is always a little hard), the lights are all turned off, the alarm set, climb into bed, roll lazily over to drap my self blissfully around you and finding nothing there. I usually spend that first night gripping pillows and stuffed animals with multiple blankets and the Moshi pillow you gave me drapped over my face all in a frail attempt to simulate the warmth of you being here. It's long and agonizing. A dull ache that flares up every now and then as I vainly try to dream my way into the night before. Sleep that first night is usually short and exhausting.

Waking up that first morning is equally excruciating. Remembering why it was that you covered yourself with every possible bed accessory the night before. Getting up slowing. Walking through an empty room to the bathroom. Seeing the empty bed, and eating breakfast alone on the sofa in a silence that you know will be broken by no one but yourself. That's painful.

But I think I realized today that the worst moment of them all comes before that. It's the first moment. Walking to the car with you. Watching you leave. Walking the same path back, alone. It's a dull ache. But the moment that hurts the most, is the first second when I open the door, and you're not there. When the door closes and I'm the only one standing in the room. What makes it hurt isn't just that the room is empty. It's that the room has changed. It's never the way I normally leave it. It's the way we normally leave it. Except now I'm the only one there.

What hurts is the small insignificant item you leave behind--the sock, the empty glasses wipe, the reciept. Something you took out of your pockets abstractly and just put down, because you knew it would just be there when you needed it.

Little things make that moment easier--making the bed before you leave (that moment used to be unbearable), putting the water cups someplace other then where you left them, turning all of the lights in the room on.

All of the other moments are bad, but for me I think that one's the worst--being made visually aware of the fact that my world has been changed, but the impetus for that change isn't there anymore. That's usually when you get a phone call from me. I'm sorry for getting weepy on you. And I'm sorry if it seemed like I was pushing you out. I wasn't. I love you. I just wanted to smile for you when you drove off, and make the moment when I walked back in the room a little easier to bare. I'm sorry for being so sad all the time. I really thought that this time I would make it. Because everything this time was so beautiful, and simple. I don't think I'll ever sleep as comfortably as I did last night in your arms.

Thank you for coming and sharing your Spring Break with me. Thank you for putting up with my indecisiveness and meloncholy (and bad spelling) so graceously. I love the time I spend with you. It makes my soul a little calmer, and a little more hopeful. Thank you for the good conversation, and for showing me that it's ok to do the things I want to do (any other day I would never have even gone outside of my apartment) Sorry you had to miss Oliver. =] I can't wait to see you in that. If you want help, etc with your other scene for Acting Class, I would love to help you this weekend. That kind of got forgotten and I'm sorry.

I love you. I think this post has gotten long enough. =]

Did you see that Baystreet is doing Forum next season?

You are beautiful. I hope you know that.

I think we should watch the sunrise.

-Jen