whether it seems likely or not, from the moment i stepped back into my home, i felt your presence and absence everywhere. i felt the expansion of time.
and i sank to the ground, not having touched the red towels neatly folded, not having looked at anything else.

the emptiness of having been forced to say goodbye to you once again had sucked the hope out of me. and yet it still took the strength of every fiber in my mind to stop myself from calling to you, from telling you i looked for you at the airport, oh smoldering hope. i searched for you in every face, in every body. in every dream i fought the memory of you.

i punished myself for doing so, because i thought you were already gone. i punished myself for my puny, smiling hope.

i picked myself up with our simultaneous pain. i thought you were gone. i convinced myself you would never come to save me. who am i but a liar to myself?

“While I can’t have you, I long for you. I am the kind of person who would miss a train or a plane to meet you for coffee. I’d take a taxi across town to see you for ten minutes. I’d wait outside all night if I thought you would open the door in the morning. If you call me and say ‘Will you…’ my answer is ‘Yes’, before your sentence is out. I spin worlds where we could be together. I dream you. For me, imagination and desire are very close.”
― Jeanette Winterson

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