Fourth night that I'm sleeping in our bed alone. I still sleep on my side like I'm saving room for you to climb in. I have the white tee shirt in bed with me that you wiped Finn's mouth with when he spit up a little nursing. It just smells like you. You smell so good.
I imagine you across the country and all the busy work that you're doing. I picture you. I picture your hands mostly. I wrote about those hands the first night I met you in that bar years ago. When I was still in New York and was home for the weekend. I met my brothers out and you were there. You had a hat on and I saw you. I saw your hands. Those hands that while we were dating, I watched give your nephew a bath. I watched your hands wash his tiny back and I imagined how great of a father you would be some day.
Now I watch your hands on our son. The way you hold him and play with him. Bathe him and feed him. Dress him in his pajamas at the end of the day. Read him books with your gentle voice. I watch your hands put lotion on his chapped cheeks from the winter's wind. I watch your hands teach our boy how to clap. How to motion "more", how to wave. The same hands that I saw moving your beer bottle on that bar booth's table years ago when I didn't know you. I saw your hands and I made you laugh and you came and sat by me at the bar and told me you liked how I didn't paint my fingernails. Do you remember?
Tonight I remember holding your hand on our drive home from the first time you took me to the cabin. And I remember holding your hands while giving birth to our son.
I imagine you right now working that event you're at and your hands writing people's names on their name tags. The men you are with probably decided you were best for the job because you have the nicest handwriting. I imagine you smiling at the people walking and being polite and kind and imagine you picturing your son in his crib, laying on his side hugging his blanket, and I imagine your hands aching to touch his little head and feel his smooth baby skin.
Soon! Oh we both miss you.