Absence and the Heart (If I ain't got you)

I've always been good with solitude. For all intents, I was an only child. My baby sister didn't come around until I was 14, and by that time, my childhood was all but over. I spent said childhood not only as the only kid, but the only niece, nephew and grandchild. I had the whole proverbial fucking village to call my own. So, while I didn't have siblings to chase around the yard, or whatever siblings do together, I had all of the adult love I could possibly absorb, and then I had my solitude. I had a rich imaginary world, and was content to entertain myself for hours on end in a bedroom or living room. It was fine with me, and it still is. 

Usually, I need about an evening or so of solitude per week, at minimum, to feel sane. It's like vitamins, or sunshine, or food. It's imperative. 

And then, being married for as long as we have, you also tend to count on your spouse for inherent companionship; another vital element I'm beginning to realize I need like water. 

Like water, when something is always present, you don't miss it until it's gone. And this weekend, my man is gone. Over the entirety of our relationship, we've had the kind of marriage where it's okay to take separate vacations, to have separate sets of friends, to essentially have our own lives. I think it's good on many levels. So when it's time for one or the other of us to pursue an out of town endeavor, it's NBD (no big deal). And, I think, we both respectively appreciate the chance to stretch out on our own, wander around the apartment on our own time, drink during the day (in my case) and snore louder than usual. Or whatever.Perhaps he spends more of the bow chicka time on the computer, and I test the limits with how much whiskey and cheese one girl can put away. (It's frightening.) 

But, tonight, I'm missing my man. I'm a sucker for love songs, uncannily definitive as they can often be when it comes to life and love. This is one that gets me every time, and of course it came on randomly tonight as I was alone in my kitchen, and it got me once again.