It hurts to swallow. My head is sore and my back is throbbing.
Some of that is from crying. Some of that is from dealing with feeling completely frazzled in an attempt to sort things out and get back in gear.
You. I love you like I’ve never loved another person. I knew this day would come, or at least I had to know it would, but it’s here and it’s not easy to deal with. I thought I was connected to you before. Now? I really don’t feel anything could come between us. And that makes it a little easier to breathe. I told you time would pick back up now, we’d go back to our lives apart from each other and we’d get our shit in gear to be together again soon and as true as I know that is, I’m sitting in bed wishing it were tomorrow. Wishing it were Wednesday. Wishing it were Friday. Wishing it were the middle of September.
But you know what? I’m grateful it’s gotta be this way. It was a lot easier to tell you I love you when we had to walk the other way in the airport this time, but it was a lot harder to turn around. But I’ll take that. I’ll take that because if I didn’t feel ready to collapse, ready look at my swollen eyes and hastily wipe them one more time before feebly crawling back into bed, the reward wouldn’t be so sweet. If we couldn’t enjoy what comes next, I’d rather just not be happy at all.
So let’s make a deal. We said the next time we sent the other one off in the airport, it’d only be for a week or so. You said two weeks was too long. Let’s say ten days, but the first and last day have to be late afternoon and early morning flights, respectively. Still too long? Okay. Nine days, late flight out, early flight back, and we eat our body weight in tacos or burritos when we pick the other one up from the airport? I think that sounds fair.