Cancellation of hope

He likes being right. It is something his brother told me months ago when I was drawn into an amicable disagreement between them. Watching two people disagree in a foreign language is interesting. Particularly when they both turn and attempt to draw you in to their side.

Anyway, I digress.

He likes being right. So it is naturally that when news broke that Belgium was stopping flights in and out of the UK he laughed. “And you wanted to come!”

I stopped watching the news weeks ago. I don’t hear anything I want to hear. But I looked at the BBC website and saw it was true. New strain. Fears of how quickly it spreads.

I wasn’t laughing.

Seeing that my reaction was somewhat more sombre, he tried to cheer me up. He told me that everything would be OK and not to be upset. We knew this might happen. Well, he did. Boris’ statement of the ability to travel in tier three, however ill-advised, gave me one last spark of hope.

Tonight, history has repeated itself. Just two months before my hoped visit, his country have also suspended flights to the UK. There was only a small hope of me going in February. Now I have none.

I sent him a link to the article, not expecting him to see it until morning. He called me though, drowsy with sleep, to comfort me. He can’t understand why I get upset as he knew this would happen. I’ve got to accept it as there is nothing else we can do.

I know he is right. But it hurts and I miss him. And I want to be with him again, to feel it all again. For him to feel it all again and not forget me. Not make a choice for an easier life and forget me.

He wanted more time. Well he has certainly got it now. It doesn’t make me happy.


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