Difficult Smurfs and Laughter

Oh crap, here we go again – B’s off to Sweden, probably taking off as I write on his 07:45 flight to stoopid Stockholm, and I’m already mopey and needy, missing him even though he’s only been gone for an hour and a half or so. It’s at times like this that I end up reflecting on what we truly have and feel such gratitude at getting to spend my life with the person who isn’t just my best friend, but is fucking sexy too and who I can’t seem to get enough of.

Last night was a brilliant example that to me just sums us up – laughing so much I had stomach cramps, yet now I am struggling to remember exactly what it was that was so freaking funny. Something to do with smurfs. Something like the hysterically funny and equally random conversation we had by the river Sunday evening over a couple of drinks, just silly nonsense deteriorating into complete madness and us both in stitches. It’s amazing how in tune we are – from how we seem to just slot together in more ways than just the obvious ones, from how we’ll both turn to each other and embrace in the morning to how B will suddenly verbalise the exact thing that was on my mind at any given moment. I’m not a huge fan of cliches, but he truly is my soulmate.

So now that he’s gone until tomorrow, I’m feeling every bit as lost as I usually do when he’s not around. Tried to get Mother Hen up to stay over for a girly night with wine and lots of chatter, but she wasn’t able to, so I’ll busy myself with writing, cooking, cleaning and sorting photos for a couple of collage photo frames I bought. Have selected a bunch that include my favourite one of B and I when we were in New Zealand to see his family earlier this year – his youngest sister commented on Facebook (where I’d included it in an album): “Love!”, and she’s right, there’s no mistaking how I look at B in that picture. I absolutely adore this man and have never felt this way about anyone before.

It’s strange to hear him describe his marriage and how the home was loveless and cold, how he describes how he just didn’t want to be close with his ex in that way to the point that it was almost the opposite – this tactile man who is always leaning in for kisses, always touching me in one way or another even if it’s only his knee against mine when we’re sitting at the dining table having dinner, always keen to hold me, always stopping to hug and kiss me if we pass each other in the kitchen or anywhere else, always giving me his raised-eyebrows-look and edging closer if we’re out somewhere and I’m sitting at a distance away he deems too far. It’s completely impossible for me to imagine how he’d be any different, so hearing about his past relationships is really strange. But then, I suppose, my past is similar in that I’ve never felt such a physical need for my partner either. Perhaps it’s only when you finally meet the right person after a number of wrong’uns, that you end up being that hormone-fuelled, loved-up teenager again and it lasts.

Even when I look back on the handful of times we’ve disagreed, I’m surprised. I’m quite feisty, I can be argumentative and difficult for difficult’s sake (one reason why, perhaps, B has nicknamed me Deliberately Difficult Smurf), but the very few times we’ve been in a mood with each other have all been brief, silly and have had no impact whatsoever. They haven’t even turned into arguments. I believe it’s part of any healthy relationship to occasionally argue, but it just doesn’t seem to happen.

So what to do, now that I have an agonising evening and night ahead without B? Have a couple of cheeky glasses of wine, cook something nice (adding garlic and chilli to my heart’s content without having to hold back in case B sweats eating it – he always does when he good naturedly devours my fiery concoctions), get a bit of writing done and then watch a film? I’ll be double locking the door, that’s for sure, and I’ll have to hide the keys from myself (I know – insane) in case I go sleepwalking, given Mother Hen wasn’t able to come up and keep an eye on me. Oh well. Let’s hope I don’t lock myself out naked again when there’s no one here to let me back in. Yes, yes – I am quite the delight to live with, let me tell ya.

Well. I’m sure I’ll end up waking up several times all confused and bewildered like I always do when B’s not there right next to me, by reaching over to put my arm around him only to hit the mattress and the empty space he usually inhabits. And perhaps like I so often do when he’s not home, I’ll find myself waking up on his side of the bed. Never ever, did a woman love a man the way I love B.

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