to not be a couple

10 months into being single, I’m still sat alone on my couch with the instinct of finding someone to talk to.

I’ve never known I appreciated physical touch so much as now, not being part of a couple. Before this year (the Chinese year of the Snake!) I was part of a couple for fourteen years. We were a couple. I did a lot of things on my own still: I made my own friends, I was part of a writing community, I took sports classes, I went on holidays with friends. We weren’t glued together, but we weren’t not glued together, either. When we were 21, we moved in together because it was cheap and functional and we wanted to be together all the time. That never changed. Many other things did change.

And now I’m not in a couple. It feels… loose. In the first months post-couple, I think if someone had flicked me I would have just tumbled over. Fallen flat on my face. But nearly 10 months into being this loose individual in the world, I’m still sat alone on my couch with the instinct of finding someone to talk to. I spend most of the day trying to find someone to talk to, or shaming myself for doing this. ‘I should be learning how to be alone by myself!’ I write to myself.

This is it. The learning part. I now understand why singles are annoyed at their friends in relationships. When my lover leaves after a date, I sink into my own skin and count the days I will have to wait until the next time someone will hold me like that. Friends in relationships say: ‘Yes, but you’re getting sex and you’re not in a new relationship again, isn’t that what you wanted?’ It is what I wanted, on paper. But I never even thought about the physical intimacy that isn’t sex. How important it is to be able to linger together on the sofa. How safe I feel when someone strokes my hair. Or how completely self-evident it used to be to sleep in a bed with someone warm, my arm around his waist.

This is what the friends in relationships forget, too. Because the self-evident part of being together can only be felt after you lose the part. To not be in a couple means standing tall when you don’t want to. I am cooking myself a delicious red cabbage and date dish. I bought a fine woollen shirt for winter and I’m wearing a warm jumper on top. My stomach growls. I’m still hungry. My copy of Lord of the Rings lies on the kitchen counter, I really want to finish it (but also don’t want it to end). Period pain nestles itself into my belly. It’s quiet in the flat, the neighbour’s cat is at his own house. I’m eager to make some tea. On some days I light all the candles, on some days I don’t. I’m thinking about buying a small Christmas tree. This morning I was feeling lonely, now I’m not so much.

I am the baby to care for, the Sim whose ‘comfort’ bar is low.