It's so hard to get in the car, and look out the window at you as I pull away. Everything behind me gets smaller and smaller, and then when I inevitably have to turn away, and leave you in my back window, I feel that cold steely hand clench around my heart and squeeze. My stomach flips over inside of me, and lands with a dark thud that echoes through me until it escapes with a weary sigh.
This visit is over, it pains me to know that I will carry around this empty space inside for a while; the space that is so filled with joy, when I am there.
Now, I am here. Back to "normal".
"There" is excitement. Possibility. Energy. New thoughts and ideas and things to discover. All so unattainable on any permanent basis.
"Here" is just so ordinary and routine and the same. And lonely, somehow -- a contradiction in that there are SO many people around me. And yet. Lonely. This, unfortunately, IS permanent.
I hope it won't be too long before I see you again. But the tiny, quiet fear is always there. What if this was the last time? What if there is no next time?
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