Little piles of dust

I'm now on my third night of not sleeping properly since my sweetie is out of town, and I'm of two minds about it (although both of them are a little muzzy). On the one hand it's pretty darn romantic that I can't seem to get to sleep without him in our bed next to me, on the other it's kind of annoying. I don't like the feeling of being dependent on someone else to that degree; it's just not in my nature to embrace my own needyness. And it's odd, because I sleep just fine when I'm the one out of town, vacationing with a girlfriend or in a big fluffy hotel bed on a business trip somewhere. So it's not like I'm hopelessly codependent, right? But in our own house, in our own bed, it just doesn't feel right without him, even though we only moved to this apartment a little over a month ago. Also I start to get a little scared of... something, which I never used to be. The first night he was gone I actually locked the bedroom door and took the metal bar out of the bottom of the roman shade and put it in bed with me, close at hand. Boy, writing that down makes me feel like even more of an idiot than doing it did.

R. said something a little startling night before last when we were out for sushi; he said that if L. and I ever broke up, we'd just dissolve. I don't remember what brought up that topic of conversation -- well, other than talking about break-ups, of course, but I don't remember how it got onto us specifically. "What, like into piles of dust?" I asked, surprised. "Yeah," he said, "you'd say 'This isn't working anymore', you'd shake hands and turn to walk away from each other and then, poof, little piles of dust." I'm paraphrasing, of course. At the time, it seemed like one of those goofy things he says but now, thinking back, it's sort of unsettling. All I know is that I miss my sweetie very much. Especially now that I'm about to drag my tired ass downstairs to the laundry room and I discover that he bought the jumbo 124oz bottle of detergent which weighs about 10 pounds.