I found it really hard to get to sleep, despite his love and care on our last night.
I woke at 4am. Someone had gone to the bathroom and (I say this with absolutely no shame) thinking it was Wildcard, purposefully got up to go myself.
I was correct and rewarded with him coming to sleep with me. We held each other for the remaining hours of the night, and he reached for my hand in our embrace, every part of us locked together. Precious moments.
When we heard his parents stirring at 6am, he snuck out, a bemused look on his face as he made the dash out the door. I think we’d both be stupid to think his parents don’t suspect or know we are intimate. He is certainly much more careful about rules when his Dad is around though.
I finished packing then went out to the lounge to sit with him. I choked down a breakfast I had no stomach to eat then went back to my room. He didn’t follow.
Agter a time, I went back out and he was in his place on the couch. This time, he opened his arm and beckoned me to lie next to him, not at his feet end as normal.
I know he was concerned with my silence and my occasional tears. I can’t help it.
At 7.30am, we both got up to get changed and he hugged and kissed me through my tears, reminding me that this was not the last time we would see each other. I, unfortunately, know only too well that no one knows what life is in store.
By the time we had got to the airport, his emotional armour was back on. Whilst not cold, his demeanour had changed. He was beinf positive, keeping it together. He told me he loved me, again, out loud and to my face. This has been one of the major developments of this trip. He always messages it, says it on the phone at the end of a call, but I can count only maybe two times previously – and likely only one – where he has actually said it to my face. This trip, he’s said it many times.
I feel numb. Dead inside. I can’t even tell you that my mind is working overdrive, because it’s not. I do think however that I have much to discuss with my counsellor. As before, my emotions have swung like a pendulum. It needs to be sorted. I need clarity, not excessive thinking and overpowering emotions.
As suggested by my Facebook Bestie, I have written him a letter. It’s short and to the point: thanks him for his love, shares my own; apologises for the crying but suggests I may cry less if I knew when I was next going; reiterated my career advice but also said that I wished we had talked about our future too. I hid the letter in a pile of my drawings in his room but told him about it on the way. I wonder if he can understand my writing, never mind its language.
It’s now early Monday morning and I’m home. I got home late – 13 hours of travelling in the end.
I spent most of the journey home thinking of him. I always do. I guess Tolle would call that living in the past. Would he accept my reason for it? Because in that moment, reliving it- replaying moments of it over and over again – that’s what kept me together. Music on, I stared at the passing trees, fields…life, and in my mind I was back with him and those soft kisses and the feel of his hand in mine.
The word ‘missing’ isn’t enough.
He called me a few times and I just felt overjoyed at seeing him. This time yesterday I was still with him.
Will he feel it this morning too? The sense of feeling like you’ve put on an old pair of slippers – back to your normal life, whilst your heart yearns for what is missing.
Yes, maybe yearning is the better word.
Will he regret that I am not there this morning, turning to see him as he opens the door, hair dishevelled? Will he wish that he was sliding in to bed to kiss me, before wrapping his arms and legs around me, and just holding me. Making me feel so safe and warm and loved. Will he miss that too?
Will he yearn and long for me, as I am for him?
Nothing else seems important. All I want is him.