insomnia

I made Marvin a cup of coffee this morning. 

I don't think he understands that's as domestic as I get. 

Or that I haven't been that domestic in four years. 

It's really fucking weird.

Don't get me wrong. 

A relationship is great. 

I mean, hell, that's why I've endured all the ridiculous dates and ridiculous sex over the years. 

The ultimate goal is a relationship.

Isn't it?

But in the middle of the night I got up to use the restroom and then wandered into the living room to find my cat, Cartier, sleeping on the couch.

My cat hates men. 

Fucking HATES them. 

Girls, he snuggles up beside. 

But there's a man in our place and he gets all territorial like, I'm the only male who gets on that bed, asshole.

So I sat next to him on the couch and petted him. 

I miss you, I whispered. 

There's this great, sexy guy asleep in my bed and I'm in the living room talking to my cat.

Typical Reese, 

Somewhere there's a shrink speculating that sums up all my relationship problems right there. 

Or maybe not. 

I climbed back into bed and looked at him sleeping. 

I curled up next to him and smiled as I looked out the window.

I was in some foreign land, some alternate reality, where I had what I wanted and yet a part of me doubted it. 

A part of me still wanted to run away, to sleep on the couch with Cartier. 

To just be alone. 

I like my life alone.

It is lovely sharing it with someone. 

But it is foreign to me. 

At least like this.

Intimacy is a wonderful, terrifying, extraordinary and unpredictable thing.

Tonight I get to sleep in my giant bed alone.

With Cartier curled up by my side. 

And I am grateful. 

But I know the next night he comes over it won't feel quite as foreign. 

And maybe one night I'll even forget what it felt like when I preferred sleeping alone.

I can't imagine that. 

But I guess anything is possible, isn't it?