Filling Space

We were sitting side-by-side on the couch. He was watching a football game, I was reading a book and absently scratching his back. He made a noise, something in response to what was happening during the game. I looked up, and noticed my hand tracing circles on his back. My eyes welled up, and I had to excuse myself, careful to hide my tears. I knew it just didn't feel right. I was scratching the wrong back.

I started dating a little before Christmas. Setup by friends, or a happenstance encounter at the community center where I work out, or just because it was right in front of me. I convinced myself I could do it, that I was ready to get "back out there." I was up front about my situation; I wasn't sure what I was looking for, as I was fresh from the conclusion of a long-term relationship. It felt good, the novelty of it. The newness of exploring someone else. Convincing myself that it was okay because I was aware of what I was doing. That I was choosing this.

I tried, but I just couldn't do it. As much as I want to be the girl who can casually invite a boy into my bed, the girl who can share a few flirty cocktails with a stranger, the girl who can make out in the car on  a Wednesday night, that girl, I cannot be. Not without attachments, not without feeling bad, not without worry. Not without emotional consequence.

I'm a little angry. I've done everything right. I read the books. I meditated. I journaled. I developed a new hobby. I spent time with family and friends. I didn't make any hasty decisions. I traveled. I'm supposed to be okay now, right? Healed? Ready to progress?

The first time I kissed someone new, I narrated it in my mind, as it was happening. We are kissing. He is touching me. I am touching him. It was new. It was weird. It was uncomfortable. 

Missing someone and not being able to do anything about it is a weird kind of pain. It's unsettling. There's no countdown to when I'll see him again. There's no light at the end of the tunnel. There's no guarantee that one day I'll stop missing him and then it will be okay again. I am believing that the okay again will happen, but there is a chance that it won't. And I am incredibly humbled to realize how much missing him knocks me over, just when I think I've made such progress in my grief.

So on a night like tonight, where sleep does not come readily, all that's left is Adele in the dark.