Part of me is still laying on that couch

It’s odd how you can become simultaneously more comfortable with your situation and more enraged with it. The peace and tranquility of the mountains were everything I needed. The people, the hiking, and the calm were all things my soul was craving—all things I would never find in South Florida. The noise and rat race are deafening at times. It was certainly too much for me to take any more of.

On the other side of the coin, the more I heal, the lonelier I become. Don’t get me wrong, I fill my time with trips and outings. Fun little treats throughout the month to keep me looking forward to something. Which I guess is all anyone can really be expected to do in my situation. But there are those nights where the silence is deafening. Where my mind has nothing to occupy itself with and will wander to darker corners. 

In those moments, I think back to times when I felt whole and at peace. I hate to admit it, but the one that has come to mind the most often is being cuddled up on the couch with someone I shouldn’t be thinking of. It was late that night when he pulled into the driveway. He was spent and just collapsed on the couch. Next thing I know, I’m pulled in on top of him, and I just rested my head on his chest. I never normally feel small or safe, but I did in that moment. The level of contentment was cruel looking back. It was something I knew deep down I couldn’t have, and yet I let myself believe in that moment. I close my eyes and fall back into that memory a lot. I kick myself for getting up so quickly. I was worried I was too heavy and making him uncomfortable. I had never been held like that before, and I don’t think I knew how to respond. Even though it was a fleeting moment, it's one that my mind seems to have latched onto. It’s the feeling I keep chasing yet can’t find.