Without You
iʼm nothing without you
Her favorite part of the house had been the large bay window in the living room.
She remembered when they had first moved into the house, when they had finally finished unpacking. He had grabbed her hand and spun her around, right in front of that big bay window, sunlight streaming through to brighten the room.
“There’s not even any music,” she had giggled. (God, had she really giggled?)
“We don’t need any,” he replied, beginning to sing anyway, off-key.
She remembered begging him to stop but he had just sung louder and louder until they both were laughing too hard to even keep dancing.
She missed that—laughing with him until her sides ached and her eyes watered. And he would be doubled over shaking with silent laughter, his hand somewhere on her (her knee if they were sitting, shoulder if they were standing).
But everything changed, as these things usually do.
She had seen them (him and her), seen them through that bay window she loved so much, seen them laughing the way she and him usually would, saw him look at her the way she had been looked at by him many times before.
She thought about barging in, demanding to know what was going on. But she couldn’t move, was stuck looking through that stupid window, picturing herself leaving him.
She did leave. For a few hours, anyway.
She turned away from the house, pushing away the images of him kissing her. She walked away from the house, wandering the neighborhood before finally returning to her home—their home.
She could see him sitting on the couch in the living room, a book in his hands. The other woman was gone.
She hesitated outside, just watching him. He must have sensed her. He looked up and saw her watching—and he smiled. And for some reason, she smiled too.
She imagined asking him about what she had seen through the bay window earlier, pictured herself screaming at him till her throat hurt before packing up her things and leaving.
But then she pictured her life without him… and there was nothing.
All she could picture was them laughing together, dancing in front of the bay window, even if the light shining through was no longer quite so bright.
She remembered when they had first moved into the house, when they had finally finished unpacking. He had grabbed her hand and spun her around, right in front of that big bay window, sunlight streaming through to brighten the room.
“There’s not even any music,” she had giggled. (God, had she really giggled?)
“We don’t need any,” he replied, beginning to sing anyway, off-key.
She remembered begging him to stop but he had just sung louder and louder until they both were laughing too hard to even keep dancing.
She missed that—laughing with him until her sides ached and her eyes watered. And he would be doubled over shaking with silent laughter, his hand somewhere on her (her knee if they were sitting, shoulder if they were standing).
But everything changed, as these things usually do.
She had seen them (him and her), seen them through that bay window she loved so much, seen them laughing the way she and him usually would, saw him look at her the way she had been looked at by him many times before.
She thought about barging in, demanding to know what was going on. But she couldn’t move, was stuck looking through that stupid window, picturing herself leaving him.
She did leave. For a few hours, anyway.
She turned away from the house, pushing away the images of him kissing her. She walked away from the house, wandering the neighborhood before finally returning to her home—their home.
She could see him sitting on the couch in the living room, a book in his hands. The other woman was gone.
She hesitated outside, just watching him. He must have sensed her. He looked up and saw her watching—and he smiled. And for some reason, she smiled too.
She imagined asking him about what she had seen through the bay window earlier, pictured herself screaming at him till her throat hurt before packing up her things and leaving.
But then she pictured her life without him… and there was nothing.
All she could picture was them laughing together, dancing in front of the bay window, even if the light shining through was no longer quite so bright.