I lay in the bed, staring up at the ceiling, my feelings slowly starting to overwhelm me.

I sit up abruptly, all out of air. I fumble for my clothes in the darkness. Slip into them haphazardly, trying to get dressed as quickly and quietly as possible. Don’t want to wake him up. Don’t want to have to explain myself. Don't know how to.

I get my flannel on and make it all the way to the door of his bedroom before he stirs in the blankets. He sits up, blinking drowsily, and lets out a sleepy breath.

“Hey,” he mumbles. I cringe in the darkness, stopping where I am.

Shit. “Hey.”

“Where're you goin’?” he asks, still mostly asleep.

I take a second to pull a calmer expression onto my face before I turn to look at Roger. I'm not the best liar, but maybe he'll be too tired to see through it.

“Just..." I cast my mind around for an excuse. "I forgot, I have to be up really early tomorrow.”

“I’ll get up early, too, then,” Roger yawns, running a hand through his black hair. “C’mon, stay with me. You’re always leaving. Just stay.”

He reaches for me, and I’m glad that his eyes are barely open, so that he doesn’t see me automatically take a step backwards.

“Nah, I - I’ve really gotta go, Roger. I'm sorry. I'll text you, alright?”

“S’everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything - I'm - it’s fine.”

This is apparently enough for Roger, who shrugs sleepily and flattens out on the bed again. I can tell that he’s disappointed, but he’s too tired to argue with me about it.

“Miss you already,” he says, snuggling back down into the pillows.

I wince, holding my car keys tightly. “Goodnight.”

“G’night, Keane-Bean.”

I pick up speed as I cross Roger's living room, rushing for the door. His house may as well be vacuum-sealed, for all the air I’m getting. Suffocating, trapped in here, need to get out, out out out -

I burst into the night air and take a long, gasping breath of it, slumping back against the door. The impact is loud enough that I worry Roger might hear it from his bedroom, but either he doesn’t, or he’s already fallen back asleep.

I focus my eyes on the starry sky overhead, catching my breath. Then I slowly walk to my car, feeling numb.

I pull away from Roger’s house. I go fast until it drops out of my rearview, then slow all the way down. I open the windows, all of them except the broken one in the back that I’d have to get out and do manually. I take a turn that will put me on empty backroads, more or less double the time it takes for me to get back to my apartment. And I drive very slowly, my mind utterly blank.

Dark fields on either side of me, dark roads before me and behind me. My headlights throw walls of tall, tawny grass into illumination as I go. It’s very quiet, except for the chirping of the crickets, the whisper of the warm summer wind rolling through my car.

Suddenly I’m almost in tears. I run a hand over my face and take a staggering breath, trying to hold them back.

Out of nowhere, I’m absolutely crushed by an all-consuming, immense wave of loneliness that I feel at my very core. And I’m so frustrated, so fucking frustrated that this is still happening to me.

The thing is, there’s nothing wrong with Roger. He's a good boyfriend.

He makes an effort with me. I think he likes me a lot. He’s nice. He’s brave, clearly, given that he chose to be a firefighter. He’s very attractive. We have hot, satisfying sex - so good, Jamie, just like that, he was moaning in my ear earlier tonight - and we don’t have big fights, even if we do tend to miscommunicate.

Our senses of humor don’t go well together, but we indulge each other by just laughing when it’s obvious that there was an attempt. He does make me actually laugh, sometimes. Sometimes he even makes me laugh hard. Although - that's usually by accident, and he won't get why what he did or said was funny.

The things about Roger that annoy me aren’t even big enough for me to say something about them. I haven’t bothered to tell him that Keane-Bean irritates me, for example. That it sounds like a nickname more appropriate for a child than a grown man. Roger is kind of sensitive, takes the slightest perceived criticism very seriously. So I let it go, because it’s barely anything, anyways.

Not worth the bother to tell him. That would be a whole long conversation that frankly I just don’t want to deal with, not with the way we communicate.

The point is, things are fine between us. Roger is probably the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. Definitely the one I’ve liked the most, out of all of them. He ticks a lot of the boxes, in terms of what I’m looking for.

And still, with him, I have these same wild bursts of deep, profound loneliness and unhappiness that I did with all the others.

In moments like this, I even find myself questioning the things I do like about my relationship with Roger. The fact that we don’t fight - is that because we mostly stick to talking about superficial things? That he laughs even when he clearly didn’t get the joke I was trying to make, and that I do the same for him - isn’t that kind of pretending, playacting, fake of us? And don’t we both know that? And if so, why do neither of us say anything about it?

I even wonder about the undeniably powerful sexual chemistry we have with each other. I don’t doubt it, but I do worry about how big of a role it plays. Like - if I took it out of the equation, how would everything else about this relationship weigh up? Would I have gone over to Roger’s place tonight? Would I really want him at mine?

I’m… not sure that I would. I'm not even sure that we would be friends, if we weren't romantically involved. Sometimes I feel like this relationship only takes energy from me, doesn't give me any. Sometimes I’m relieved when Roger and I part ways after spending time together. I find myself wishing that I was alone instead of with him, so I could just relax and be myself and not have to pretend about anything.

Even in the best moments with Roger, there’s something in me that feels lonely. Like he doesn’t know anything about me that I haven’t told him outright. I’m sure that Roger has tremendous depths, just like everyone, but I haven’t reached them, and he definitely hasn’t reached mine.

What does he see, when he looks into my eyes? I look into his and I think that the color of them is pretty, and I don’t think anything more. We sit together on the surface, never falling or diving below.

No depths. But also - no heights. I’ve never had a moment where I looked at Roger and had my breath stolen from my lungs, my heart stopped, my mind given over to him completely. Never been hit with any big shock of emotion, nothing seismic in my soul. Never felt like - in this moment, nothing else matters but you. Us. I feel it with every part of me, my body, my soul, my heart.

Never.

And I don’t think that I’m the only one. If Roger has had one of those moments with me, he’s given no sign.

We always stay so... flat.

I have the mental image of someone smashing two misfitted puzzle pieces with a hammer until they’re forced to fit. Like - yeah, now they’ll stay together, but you had to bend and twist them out of shape to make them do that. And won’t they come apart at the slightest bit of pressure? And doesn’t doing this warp everything else, make them so that they don’t fit the pieces they’re actually supposed to fit, and now the whole picture is off, screwed up?

I’ve tried, but I just can’t accept this. I know in my heart that I can’t.

I need to end things with Roger. I’ve been thinking that it might be time for a while now. What’s weird is, the prospect doesn’t make me feel sad, like - not even a little bit. I’m looking towards it with a sense of imminent relief. Even if I’m dreading actually doing it, which I absolutely am.

Maybe it'll go better than I think. Maybe Roger is feeling the same way that I am, and he won't try to fight me on this. That would be so much better than the alternative. I hope that's how it goes down. I really don’t want to hurt him, not at all. The opposite of that. Honestly, this is for his own good, too.

Roger is a sweet guy, and he deserves someone who’s fucking crazy about him. I’ve tried, but I know now that I can’t be that person. All I'm doing now is getting in the way, when that person could be out there, could be closeby.

So I can’t bring myself to feel all that sad about ending things with Roger. Not when I’m so sure that it’s the right call to make.

It’s going to be bad, though. Telling him that it’s over. Oh, god, what should I even say to him? I honestly don't know. Sometimes it’s so hard for us to communicate.

In some ways, I feel like Roger and I don't speak the same language. I’m a big believer in dreams, in signs, in living by my senses, by intuition, by deeply-felt impulses. In knowing things by just feeling them, and trusting that knowledge.

Trusting the little voice within myself, even when it’s sending me confusing messages. Sometimes doing that isn't easy, and I doubt myself, doubt my decisions. But I always at least try to live out what the voice is telling me. It’s gotten me into trouble before, but it’s just who I am.

Whereas Roger is going to want facts, an explanation, something measurable. He’s going to say: name one time that we’ve fought. Tell me what I can change that would fix this. Tell me what I did wrong.

I just know that we’re not right for each other, I’m going to say.

What does that mean? he’s going to ask, and I’m going to have no good way to explain it to him.

It’s just - these moments. Like the one I'm having right now. I keep having them. I have them with every single guy I date. Startling moments where I feel like something has grabbed me by my hair and yanked me out of a state of sad, resigned acceptance that I didn't even realize I was in.

This lonely headspace that I got so used to, I stopped noticing it - shattered all at once by a lightning strike of clarity.

When this happens, I get overwhelmed with a sudden restlessness, this sense that I need to get away. I love Ketterbridge, but I almost want to buy a plane ticket to anywhere, or point my car at the nearest state line and drive until I find myself somewhere else. Give up my lease and pack up my shit and just strike out on some new adventure. Go looking for - I don't know what.

But it’s not really about that, I don’t think. Going somewhere. It’s just about the fact that I’m desperate for something bigger, something - more.

This can’t be it, some voice in my head repeats endlessly. This can’t be all there is.

I know that I’m a romantic, and maybe it’s just that my hopes are too high. But in these moments, I could swear that I can hear something out there calling me, promising more.

I don’t know what it is, but I feel like my soul will recognize it when I see it. If I ever get to. And I feel like I’m calling out back to it, to something far away, something… again, I don’t know. All I know is that I desperately hope that it finds me, that it won't stay far away forever.

I try to subdue or conquer that hope. To release it. I really do.

Yet still.

What’s really making me sad right now, what’s fucking me up and making my heart hurt and leaving me feeling empty, is that even with Roger, who looks so good on paper, I still haven’t found the - whatever it is that I’m looking for. The more.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. Frustrated and upset with myself, struggling to hold back my tears.

I just don’t get it. What’s wrong with me? Why do I always end up feeling like this? This is how it ends with everyone I go out with. This is why no one lasts more than a summer.

Is this how it’s going to be forever?

My car cuts out of the fields, and I find that I haven’t taken myself home at all. Lost in my thoughts, I went on a circuitous route and ended up at the beach.

I kill the engine in the parking lot, leave my headlights on. I hop up on the hood of my car and stare out at the water, rest my elbows on my knees.

I try to focus on the rush and pull of the waves. A peaceful, repetitive sound. But that restlessness in my heart, that empty space - it won’t let up or leave me alone.

I watch the movements of the sea, my chin on my forearms. I stare out at the foggy horizon line, as if I could see beyond it.

“I’m still waiting for you,” I hear myself say. “You’re late, you know. I’ve been waiting a long time. But I forgive you, so long as you actually show up.”

The waves come and go, glittering on the moonlit sand.

“Have we met before?” I ask, blinking back my tears. “If we have, are we ever gonna meet again? Or did I already let you get away? Or - are you someone I know? Have I been staring right at you?”

It’s cold and dark out here. The wind tugs on the sleeves of my flannel. Giving me goosebumps, making me shiver.

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, sitting here talking to myself. Well - not to myself, not really. But I don’t know who I am talking to.

Whoever he is, I’ve been looking for him, waiting for him, seeking his face in every crowd. For so long, now.

Long enough that I have to wonder if this is hopeless. If I need to stop waiting, and just take what I’m offered. Try to make the most of it. Try not to dream of fuller, richer, brighter things.

But that little voice in me is so insistent, so sure.

Have faith, it whispers. Don't give up. Wait.

Whoever or whatever planted this hope in my heart - they did one hell of a job. Because nothing I do can uproot it.

I blow out a long, frustrated sigh and fall back flat against my car. I stare up at the stars. I close my eyes and try to call out to that something - or someone - that calls out to me.

I’m still waiting, I tell him. I’m still waiting for you. I haven't given up, so don't you give up, either. Don't you dare give up.

Eventually I slide down from my car and get back inside. Tiny droplets of rain were starting to shower down on me.

I flip on the windshield wipers, swipe my sleeve beneath my nose, and put on some quiet music. I take a long minute to pull myself together before I put my car in gear.

I drive slowly, doing some hard thinking.

I think I need to be single for a while. Maybe for a long time. That's fine, though. I like being single. It’s much better than being with someone I know isn’t right for me. And since I can’t seem to find someone who is right for me - I think I need to take a break from looking. I need to do as I promised, and wait. Wait for him, whoever he is.

I can only hope that one day he’ll walk into my life. That something will bring us together. That he’ll recognize me, just as I’ve always thought I would recognize him.

That our souls will recognize each other, somehow. Even if we don’t.

Maybe it’s ridiculous. It’s very possible that I’m setting myself up to be let down. It’s possible that I’m wasting time, throwing away relationships that could've been alright, if I'd stuck it out. That I’m waiting for something that will never come.

It’s a scary thought, and it makes me tremble inside.

But I stand by the whispered promises of my heart, unanswered though they may be.

Have faith, I tell myself again. Don't give up.

Wait.