In the depth of the night, I lay in my bed on my almost archaic mattress where it was possible to feel the springs physically punch you in the back for the duration of the night. I pull my faded pink floral duvet up past my neck as I try my best to feel even remotely comfortable but no matter how much I tossed and turned, I was left feeling cramped and shivering like a little lost puppy. The strong breeze that managed to seep through a tiny crack in my window each and every night was now far past frustrating and I would do anything to sleep somewhere other than my room.
There was one thing that helped me through the majority of these restless nights and that was him. I didn’t even need him beside me to feel warm and safe. Purely knowing he was mine and the fact that I would be seeing him shortly was enough to keep me going.
But when I’m lying alone in bed, holding my pillow as my teeth are chattering away, I can’t help but wish he was holding me and talking to me about whatever would pop into his head. Sometimes his company is all I would need at ungodly hours of the day when I’m feeling lonely. It is moments like this, when there is nothing else to do but think about everything and then you suddenly understand how distressing distance is. It’s not like you can hop on a bus at 4am to go and see him even if it’s all you want at that particular time of day.
You begin to crave the moment you can finally hold him, laugh with him, watch films with him and the night seems to feel much longer and even more excruciating. But when that moment eventually arrives, the relaxation and the happiness is overwhelming and you struggle to think of anywhere you would rather be.