SOMETIMES
Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I lie awake and watch him sleep.
It's late, dark and quiet and I watch him. That beautiful man beside me. Through the few rays of light that filter through the curtains – it's the street lights, surely, or maybe even the moon – I can just about make out his profile. The lines of his features, soft in his sleep, his chest moving, barely noticeable, under the intake and outflow of his breath. His hands, his fingers, so strong and never quiet during the day, now relaxed, almost fragile against the sheets.
Sometimes I wake up with my back to him. He's spooning me close. We love lying like that. His face hidden in the crook of my neck, his arms surrounding me. I feel all of him, familiar, comforting, strong, against me.
Over the years, I have perfected the art of turning around in his arms without waking him. Because I love watching him sleep. From the first night I spent with him, I've always adored watching him sleep.
And then we lie face to face and I watch him. It's so dark I can barely see him, but I know every curve and every line, I don't need light to reveal his beauty. I hold back the urge to reach out. I always want to touch him, but I don't. Not now.
Because it's at these times that it hits me the hardest.
Lying here, in the dark, his sleeping form trustingly beside me, it hits me. It pierces my heart like a knife. As sharply as it did then, it stabs me. My stomach heaves and I struggle for air.
Guilt.
I hurt him.
I betrayed him.
I cheated on him.
He's forgiven me. I know that. There's not a shadow of a doubt in my mind, in my heart. He has forgiven me.
It wasn't easy. Far from it. He struggled. We struggled. We nearly broke.
There were times we feared we wouldn't make it. That we thought of giving up. But we didn't. We couldn't. And he forgave me.
Forgetting is harder. At least it is to me. I can't forget what I did to him. I remember every second, every breath, every sickening detail of what I did to him. It haunts me. In my days and in my dreams. Sometimes I can't believe it was me who did it. It feels like it was a different person. Even then, at the time, it felt like it wasn't really me. How could it be me, doing… that…?
But it was me. I know that. And I have to live with it.
Sometimes I'm not sure I can.
Sometimes I'm so scared that he can't either.
I lie there, and watch him sleep, and guilt turns into fear, and fear turns into guilt, and I can barely breathe. I push my eyes wide open to stop myself from crying. I promised him I wouldn't shed any more tears over the past.
The past is gone, he says. We live for today. And for tomorrow.
Let it go, Sy, he says, the past doesn't matter anymore.
I try so hard, but sometimes, in the still of the night, when everything's quiet, the past sneaks up on me. Wakes me up, whispers, no, shouts at me: I hurt him, I betrayed him, I cheated on him….!
The person I love the most in all the world. Who is everything to me. Who will always be everything to me. My all.
I betrayed him. I did.
And sometimes he catches me. His eyes flutter open and before I get the chance to close mine, in an attempt to conceal what must be written in them, he sees me. Even in the dark.
He says nothing. He just reaches out and touches my cheek. With his thumb he softly wipes away the wetness he finds there, then curls his hand around my face and wordlessly draws me near. Lets me rest my tired head against his shoulder.
At the end of our battle, when we finally came through, a new fresh start ahead of us, we made a promise. Never to hide anything from each other. To tell each other everything. Always.
But I can't tell him about this, about these moments when I watch him sleep and guilt nearly chokes me.
And yet, as we lie here, saying nothing, his arms holding me, my ear to his strong beating heart, a soft kiss pressed to the top of my head, I know it's all okay.
He knows I hold no secrets.
I know he knows me completely.
We are telling each other everything. Always.
Just sometimes we don't use words.