Everyone gets them. Granted I guess I'm special in I had roughly 3 days to get over it before I came home, but there you have it. I know I remember walking in the house around 8 pm on Valentine's Day after spending the day at airports with a delayed flight and this and that and so on and just thinking, "what the hell am I doing here?" While I missed elements of home (my bed, my cats, my computer, a fridge, etc) I sort of felt like I could no longer call the place 'home'.

Wednesday, just before my weekly therapist appointment, my SO borrowed a coworker's laptop to talk to me and I told him how weird it felt being back. I also told him I wasn't mad at him, which I guess plenty of people would call me a whack-job for saying that. Actually I know people would, about 5 of you if not more were insinuating that all week in my thread about my visit. The truth is I'm not mad at him, I never was. I was upset he had to leave, I was hurt that I was told last minute and especially after he told me he couldn't come back, but I was never mad.

But also, this entire week has just been making me think of the time we did have together and how happy I'd been in that time. I couldn't remember the last time I'd ever been that happy that wasn't because of medication. I smiled so much it hurt me. If I wasn't smiling, he'd tug at the corner of my mouth until it curved up and when I was at last smiling, he'd frantically kiss both sides of my mouth and laugh, saying I should always smile.

Thursday night, when he became so sick due to his chest pains, I laid by him and rubbed his chest until he fell asleep. I couldn't sleep after that, I was so worried about him, and around midnight he woke up and clutched his chest until I pulled him into me, letting his head rest on my shoulder as I rubbed his back, talked to him, and kissed his forehead. In the morning when he woke up he looked at me and thanked me for "just happening" to be awake when he needed me. I'm not a spiritual person, but I remember that night praying until my brain crossed for his pain to go away. It hurt me that much to see him like that.

The laughter... we both laughed so much, at silly things we did, at something on the television, jokes. Wednesday night we watched Braveheart on TV and he started in with jokes as it's honestly a hard movie to take seriously (I know I can't especially after an ex-friend dated a Scotsman for 2 years and all we ever did was make "For Freedom!" jokes around him) and about ten minutes in I laughed myself literally off the bed despite having been curled up at his side.

And the way he looked at me when he had to go. The first night we had spent some time nearly nose-to-nose, staring into each other's eyes. He told me he couldn't read mine, yet I could read his even though he claimed they were 'dead'. When he had to go, I could see he was in pain, that it was taking all he had to turn his back and open the door. I remember clinging to one of the pillows that smelled like him the rest of the trip and almost went mad when the housekeeping lady finally exchanged our pillows for 'fresh' ones and it was gone. I can remember his fascination with my eyes when he said they turned a gold color, then a half hour later they were green. I can't count the number of times he told me I was beautiful.

My point being, in such a short span of time I fell harder for him and in light of all the negativity I've only been able to remember these moments, the ones that make me realize the place I'm currently inhabiting gave up its title of home and plastered it onto him. It happened the moment he swept me up into his arms. He smelled of his own musk and sweat, of the leather jacket he wore despite it being warm outside, and the mints in his pocket which he obsessively ate. Scars from active duty in the army covered his arms and his left eye was lighter than the other because he's going blind in it. Calloused knuckles from working hard all his life and from rougher times. I miss these details so much it hurts.

Like anyone here, I'd give anything for another day with him.