The Movie I Didn't Watch.

I haven't actually done a lot of missing over the last twenty years.

In my marriage, we've always done everything together. Grocery store? Together. Random Tuesday night errands? Together. Watching TV while simultaneously scrolling our phones and pretending we're paying attention to the same show? Together.

That's what I know.

So now that I find myself in a situation where I miss someone...

Where I long for someone...

It's painful. Brutal, really. I miss her all of the time.

From the moment I wake up until the moment I fall asleep. And sometimes even while I'm asleep, there's this uneasiness that settles somewhere deep inside me. It's hard to explain, but I know exactly what it is.

It's the knowledge that I'm about to wake up, look across my blue sheets...

...and she won't be there.

But that's what I signed up for, right?

So for now, I'm relegated to waking up and looking across the bed, to see a man who has been steadfast in his love for me. A man who has loved me faithfully, even if it wasn't necessarily the kind of love I'd spent my life quietly longing for.

So when the bed feels empty... Or the passenger seat beside me is empty... Or it's been days since someone has really kissed me...

I miss her. I miss her so much.

And what's funny is that, with all the memories we've made together already, there is one that my brain insists on replaying.

Not the big moments. Not the dramatic ones. Just... One frame. Like my ADHD finding a favorite song and putting it on repeat for six straight hours.

Except instead of a song, it's... 

Her.

We were supposed to watch a soccer game that night. Except, for some reason, she didn't want to. Which is honestly suspicious.

She loves sports.

She claimed it was because her favorite player wasn't playing and she'd rather just go to bed and watch a movie with me.

Uh-huh. Sure. In my mind, I like to imagine she looked at the options... 

1. Watch soccer on the couch...

2. Or climb into bed with me...

...and thought, "Yep. Definitely choosing that one."

(Will I ever know if that's actually what happened? Probably not. But it's my version of the story, and I'm sticking to it.)

We started the movie with her in my arms.

Actually... "Draped across my chest" is probably more accurate.

We were both sitting in bed, meeting somewhere in the middle. She leaned back into me, and I wrapped both of my arms around her.

She wasn't wearing her contacts. She wore her glasses.

Because she knows I love her glasses. And I sat there absentmindedly playing with her hair.

God, I love her hair.

Every few minutes I'd steal a glance at her instead of the movie. The light from the TV would catch the rims of her glasses, and every so often her eyes would close... not like she was falling asleep... just holding them shut for one heartbeat longer than a blink because having someone play with your hair is one of life's greatest gifts.

I should know... she's done it for me. A night I will never... ever... forget.

I'd let my fingers wander softly along her neck, tracing familiar paths I already knew made her melt.

Then she'd turn toward me. Always leading with her lips. And mine would meet hers.

I know that kiss happened somewhere near the beginning of the movie. But by the time we finally came up for air... The credits were rolling.

That realization still catches me off guard.

For as long as I can remember, intimacy with men always felt... long. (Even when it wasn't actually all that long.) There was always a part of my brain somewhere else.

Thinking. Analyzing. Wondering how I looked. Wondering how he saw me. Wondering if I was doing everything "right."

Yes. Truth be told, I enjoyed feeling wanted. I enjoyed pieces of it. But so much of it felt... performative. Like my body was present, but my mind had wandered off to reorganize a junk drawer somewhere.

I blamed ADHD. I blamed insecurity. Maybe both were true.

But with her? Time stopped existing.

I have absolutely no idea how we made it to the end of that movie. Fifty Shades of Grey runs just over two hours. 

Two. Hours.

And somehow it felt like both five minutes...and forever. The rest of the world simply disappeared. There was no noise. No overthinking. No mental checklist. No wondering how I looked. There was just...

Her.

And that still amazes me. But even more than that, I'm amazed by the memory itself.

Out of everything we've done together... Everything we've laughed about... Every conversation... Every adventure... The image my heart refuses to let go of is so unbelievably simple.

Her. Curled up in my arms. White sheets wrapped around us. The television casting soft light across the rims of her glasses. Those lips. That peaceful look on her face.

It's just one frame. One still photograph my brain keeps pulling from the shelf over and over again. Because she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

And when I'm with her... Time doesn't just fly.

It stands perfectly still.