Distance

I have been wondering if I am sharing too much these last few weeks on the blog.

I think if I write it out it becomes real and I can start processing the information. Why I need a (small) audience to do so I am not so sure. I think it makes it more real if someone comments back, whether on here or in person.

He's gone away for a bit now. Giving me room to think. It all seems much less surreal than before. I am getting used to the idea of us not being together. He came home late last night from Manchester. I asked him to sleep in the living room, at last. He seemed disappointed (I know only because it would be more comfortable in bed and not because he wanted to be close to me) but accepted it in his stride.

It actually took a lot for me say I wanted (nay, needed) to sleep alone because it was admitting defeat. It was accepting that it was over and things weren't going to go back to how they were but 3 weeks ago.

It was odd knowing he was in the living room, that we were in the same home but he may as well have been in China, the distance seemed so vast. The gaping emptiness in the flat was painfully obvious to me.

It wasn't just the physical distance that was unsettling but the things that are unspoken. The tell-tale pauses, the expectation that the other is about to say something, the questions that run through my mind that I daren't actually ask. I don't need to hear the answers because I know they will hurt.

So there I was awake until nearly 4am with my mind racing and not getting any comfort in knowing he was unhappy, too.