But You Can’t Seem To Get Enough
Tonight is one of those nights, although I suppose technically it would now be called early morning, that I just can’t seem to go to bed. I’m tired but there’s something keeping me from sleep. An uneasy mind I guess. Maybe it’s just that I have something to say.
Most Wednesday nights are like this for me lately. Particularly when we have dinner over at Wifey’s house. There’s just something about being there with all the chaos of children running around and in-laws and pets that just feels like home. Or like what I think home should feel like. Wifey cooks and I sit with her mother-in-law drinking Mike’s waiting for the rest of the crowd to gather. They all come in slowly and huddle around the table. The noise is incredible, the laughter uproarious and most of the time the love is tangible.
The way couples in love look at each other is something that I can’t even begin to fathom. For all the times I’ve said the words “I love you” I don’t think I’ve ever come close to feeling them glowing in my eyes. That’s what I see at Wednesday night dinners. The words are rarely spoken but the feelings are there just floating around in the air. Intoxicating.
It’s there in the routine. It’s there in the madness. It’s there in the banter and bickering and badgering. It’s there in the looks and the touches and the kisses. It’s just there.
That’s why I never feel quite like leaving. I just want to stay and soak it all in. I want to feel it, even if it’s second-hand and borrowed, just a bit longer. I keep them up past the time that they wanted to go to bed. When we’re all yawning and bleary-eyed and wondering how we’ll face the alarm in the morning. But I don’t want to go home.
Home is too quiet. Two kids can’t make the noise of six and my voice will never boom across the house the way a father’s would. And after the girls are in bed? Well, it’s just plain lonely. The only thing floating in the air here is dust.
There is magic in the way couple’s who are in love look at each other. Leaving the embrace of that spell is cold and empty. It brings back all the memories of hurts and missed chances. Sometimes I think it’s better to stay away, close the door and be alone than to keep being a witness to something so beautiful that I can’t touch. Then I look through the window and can’t stay away. It may not be where I hang my hat, but anywhere that I am welcomed with as much warmth is where I will call my home. With my friends. I’d even go as far to say my family.
I guess there must be a bit of fairy dust left over tonight because I’m not feeling quite so alone now. Or maybe my heart is just softening. Either way it’s time for sleep, perhaps without the bizarre dreams that have been chasing me. The monkey/cow really freaked me out with his Mr. Potato Head performance last night. On that note, good night.
