At first, I was kind of excited to get this time to myself. I was looking forward to Fredo going on a hunting trip—his first since we met—not for the time away from him, but for the time for him to bond with his dad and cousins. For the time for me to write. To veg. To be totally and annoyingly girly, hogging the remote and eating til I can’t move, like I don’t when I’m with him.

But less than four hours into the day he left, halfway through my workout video, as I instinctively giggled at the part that always makes us laugh; it hit me. I was alone. For almost a week. He was somewhere in the forest, far from cell phone towers and Wi-Fi signals, and I wouldn’t hear his voice or read his texts for days. I wouldn’t talk to someone who I wasn’t secretly afraid was judging me or misunderstanding me until next week. The conversations I’d have that weren’t about work or how much change I was due would be few and far between.

It’s not that I don’t have other relationships in my life. It’s not that I can’t get by on my own. It’s not even that I need him or that he completes me, because I can get by just fine. It’s that together, we’re a part of something bigger. We’re two wholes that come together to make a new, even better whole. Like pen and paper. Cheese and salami. The sun and the moon.

A world with only darkness, led only by the light of the moon, would only be half complete. There’d be no blue jays or beaches, no sun tans or puffy marshmallow clouds. There’d be only porcelain skin and constellations, dark-winged bats and waves running from the shore. There’d be no day, only night.

Without a counterpart, even the best things in life aren’t as special as they could be. And now that I’ve found mine, the world’s just not as fun without it.