I can still feel you. I’m very curious what your repetitive motion was tonight. Were you tossing and turning, pacing, flipping channels? Your thoughts were going nine million miles an hour. I know. Because I can still feel you.
After months of discussion, hours of talking, and thousands of tears, I’ve acquiesced to your request. You have the break you wanted.
Here’s what I think:
I think I’m home. I think the home we’ve started is where your heart is. I think the plans we’ve made mean everything to you. I also think you’re ready to get started.
The problem is our proximity and your definition of failure. The problem is the wrinkle in the space/time continuum that we cause when we’re together.
In simpler terms: You left to go out into the world to seek your fortune. All you’ve talked about for years is your love of travel. You’ve discussed with everyone your move to Puerto Rico. But you didn’t want to leave. You pushed it back and came up with reasons why you couldn’t leave yet for months. I wanted to ask why it was still so important if even thinking about it brought you to tears, but I didn’t want you to think, even for a second, that I don’t support everything you do or want. If you asked for the moon, I’d figure out how to get it for you.
Now that you’ve been gone a little over a week, you’ve had a little time. Time to trust me, to test out the waters of a long distance relationship. To see what changes occurred in our relationship and what’s stayed the same.
And that’s the problem, my love. When we’re together time slows to a crawl and flies by at the same time. A kiss lasts for a split second and a lifetime. We lose track of time with our desire to be near each other, to touch each other, to share our space.
You’ve been gone a week and a half and you’re ready to come home. This week and a half has felt like weeks. You’ve been gone for months. A year, maybe. Too long. We haven’t been able to touch or kiss. I haven’t felt your hand in mine.
And this makes you feel like a failure. You haven’t accomplished yet what you set out to do, but all you can think about is coming home to me. To us. We are where your heart is and where you want to be. You feel that you can’t leave yet, that you have too much riding on this, but you want to. Leaving now and coming home, to you, means you’ve failed. And that frustrates you. You can’t compartmentalize me. I spill over into everything you do.
So you want this break. The idea is that by forcing a separation, you’ll be able to concentrate and focus. You’ll be able to suddenly compartmentalize where you never could before.
But you won’t. You won’t be able to.
I know that. But I need you to know it as well. No amount of me explaining will make you understand. You say that I don’t get it, but I do. Truly. You can’t get your mind to let go of your preconceived notions and listen to your heart. You’re at war with yourself. And you don’t want me caught in the middle. I understand.
I understand because I can still feel you.