Getting to the point where it's hard again. And it's all hard. The not being there, the being there and feeling like I've come home, the thought of never coming home again.
It's scary, when the continuation of "things that are good" relies on someone else.
When you could walk through the door one day and find that they've had it, they're tired, they're bored, you're too much work, too much effort.
Of course my life as a single person was still good, and would be again. A myriad of things belong to just me.
It's just scary.