Maybe I wouldn’t feel so intensely if I hadn’t been in love before. I don’t know if everyone remembers their first love. But I certainly do. I think about him fairly often, actually. Not because of him himself, (because we were very clearly not meant to be) but of the love that we had that I can’t wait to feel again. I will feel it with my husband when Hashem sends him to me. I want the little things. It’s those little things that I’m waiting for.
I want to stay up late at night waiting for him because his phone died at a Farbrengen that ran late. He couldn’t order an Uber home on account of his dead phone, so he had to walk – and he’s so sorry that he worried me.
I want to be at an event on opposite ends of the room and have him look for me in the crowd to make eye contact with me. To check that I’m okay and if I mind staying another hour. I will agree because I know he’s enjoying himself. I’ll do so even though I know I’m going to be picking at the pieces of sushi that no one wanted, and reading a about conspiracy theories on my phone for the next hour.
I want to tell him that I appreciate so much that he makes me eggs in the morning but if I have to tell him one more time that I like them sunny side up and that I can’t stand omelettes – I might punch a hole in the wall.
I want to wake up in the middle of the night worrying that he isn’t breathing properly (because that’s what I do with the people I love) and wake him to check that he is okay have him groggily reassure me that everything is fine and that he appreciates my worrying for him (even though he knows it’s just my anxiety talking). And having him wait until I fall back asleep before he allows himself to, because he knows my anxiety won’t perk up again that way.
I want to tell him that it’s completely okay if he goes out with his friends a couple of nights a week because he is his own person and needs to have his own life – when deep down I’m jealous and I want more time just doing nothing, together, side by side.
I want to have a string of late nights because I’ve been so busy, and then cry about nothing because I’m overtired and have him just sit with me. Maybe I’ll be Niddah and he’ll write out the word “hug” on a plate in macaroni, because there’s nothing else he can do.
This isn’t supposed to be sad. I’m excited for it. I’m ready and excited, wanting and waiting. I know Hashem will send him to me. I’m not worried. I’m just voicing what exactly it is that I’m waiting for.