the writing blog

6pm, the sun sets. Days are shorter in winter. I’ve spent the day at home in my pyjamas, but for the first time in hours, I feel solitude. Samuel won’t be home tonight. He’s out with some friends, and I’ll go to bed before him. I love being on my own, but I simply love being with him more. It is as comfortable as being alone. That’s rare: a year has passed since we met, we have moved in together. Not a single fight, only laughter has filled the flat. The room exhales our union, one glance, and you see double. When I’m alone, the room extends. On the couch, I have ridiculous space on my left and right, but when he is here, I have to sit diagonally to make room for his legs. There’s nothing I want to eat because we bought everything in pairs. I cannot think of a single dish I would like to try without him; he cooks, I sing or dance around him.