He lays beside me, asleep. It is uncommon, really, for me to be awake and untired while he slumbers so deeply he does not hear me or feel me get up. Often, I get up to use the bathroom, and he is waiting for me to come back, and folds his arms around me, and kisses me, holds me until we both fall asleep, or at least until I do. Deep, relaxed happy sleep, because he is there beside me. He is not a good sleeper, and I say that as one who was not a good sleeper for decades. But now, next to him, I usually sleep well. He makes me safe. Unquestionably. Unfailingly. Unconditionally. At least, it feels unconditional.

I suppose if I turned into a bitch, if I betrayed him, he would no longer love me, or lay beside me, or be waiting for me to come back to bed. But I can’t imagine not treasuring what he gives me, and risking the most happiness I have ever felt in my life. I have had plenty of misery, and unhappiness, and betrayal. But never for a moment from him, and I never for a moment want to give that to him.

So here I am, 2 hours after we went to bed, writing. I have no reason not to sleep except I am not tired. I didn’t fall asleep watching TV tonight, with his head on my lap as I sat in the recliner end of the couch. I lay in bed for awhile, I put on my sound app of waves crashing, I perused FB on my phone, and I finished reading The Last American Man by Elizabeth Gilbert. I thought about starting a new book. I have a dozen, at least, books on my kindle that I have not read yet. I buy them from Bookbub, and some are the free books that Kindle gives you each month. I can’t remember what any of them are about, save the first Outlander book. So tomorrow, I’ll look them up on Amazon and get a description of each and then decide what to read.

I am happy to hear him sleeping. He snores quietly, not the door-rattling snore of my ex-husband that could wake me from the guest room across the hall, with both doors closed. God that life seems so long ago It was, actually, I suppose. I sometimes wonder if I ever really lived it, thought I know I did. Now, my man snores like a man, a good man. It never wakes me, once I get to sleep. And I can get to sleep while he snores.

There is peace in this house. A rich, loving peace that permeates the air, the furniture, the fuzzy snuggly blanket he bought for me because I am cold half the time with the air conditioning on. There is no angst. I know now that the absence of pain is not happiness. I suppose I knew before that I was mistaking not hurting for being happy. Slowly that seed germinated and grew and flowered. I moved to Florida and I was happier than I’d ever been, to leave winter and mortgage payments behind. I was still carrying some of the painful, unnecessary baggage with me, though. Then he and I met, as I was letting go of the last of that baggage, that heavy duffel bag of left-over, unresolved emotions. I had just gained clarity, and expunged them from my life, and in walked this man who was honest, and accountable, and able to love (though he wasn’t really looking for it). It only took a few weeks until we found ourselves spending 24/7 together, making the 10 mile trip between our houses every few days. He was welcomed into my family, and I into his, and now I can say, with no reservation, that THIS IS HAPPY. There is no pain, no uncertainty, I am never waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I’m going back into bed, and try to sleep again. I know I’ll be exhausted tomorrow if I don’t. He might wake and worry if I’m not in bed. I’m happy tonight. I think I can sleep.