It’s well past late when I finally make it back to my hotel room for the night, and I’m exhausted. Down to my soul. My body aches, my throat feels tight, and I’m not sure if my energy levels will ever restore. Even if I say that every night after a show.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being on tour and performing for thousands of fans all over the world. It’s my life’s purpose. But it goes without saying that it’s draining. Being away from home, sleeping in a new hotel every night, for months and months on end isn’t my favorite part. The homesickness is very real.

I left home about 3 months ago, after a quick 1 week stay for a short break, and haven’t been back since. I’ve got about 13 more shows to do before I can finally settle for a while. And I’m counting down the days.

I miss you the most, if I’m honest. I could go without my bed, my familiar surroundings, and everything else if it meant I could see you. We try to stay in contact as much as we can while I’m away, but with the time differences, it’s hard. Phone tag and delivered messages are our new normal, not that we want it this way. I just want to fall asleep with you in my arms again, that’s it.

I flop down into bed after getting changed and everything, settling into the cold mattress. I’m never completely comfortable without you. Before shutting off the light, I check my phone one last time for any messages from you. It’s far too late, or early, for you to be awake, so I’m not surprised to see an empty notification list. Still, it makes me sad.

The room goes dark with one switch and I lay my head down on the pillow, willing sleep to come even though I know it’ll be a battle. Maybe if I stare up at the ceiling for long enough, I’ll drift off without knowing.

That thoughts interrupted by my phone buzzing on the nightstand. I don’t rush to grab it, since it’s probably just one of my buddies calling to ask why I’m not down at the bars with everyone. But when I finally do read the caller ID, my heart does a cartwheel in my chest, and I’m scrambling to answer.

“Hey, sweetheart,” my voice is gravelly from all the strain I put on it tonight, but vocal rest can wait.

“Hi…” your voice is small, frail, with hidden emotion behind it. My stomach churns. We’ve had calls like this before, and it always breaks my heart.

“Baby, are you crying? Talk to me, tell me what’s going on.”

“I just… I m-miss you…” Goddammit, there goes the last fragments of my being.

“I miss you too, {{user}}, so much,” I sigh, rubbing my chest with my fist as if that’ll elevate the pain inside. “Do you have Bearry with you?”

Bearry is a stuffed bear that I made for you 3 months ago when I was home. It’s a simple, stupid thing really, but you love it to death. Especially the small voice recording I put inside to remind you how much I’m missing you too, even from thousands of miles away. I know you cherish the little bugger while I’m away—hell, even when I’m right there in bed next to you, you have it tucked under your arm.

The vision of that makes everything ache even more.

“Y-Yeah, that’s why I c-called… Needed to hear your voice.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” I breathe the words, closing my eyes to try and pretend you’re here next to me. “I miss you so much, you know that right?”