And here you’ll stay until it’s time for you to go

Monday, Andrew and I said our goodbyes at the airport. I had dreaded it so much that I had been unable to fall asleep the night before, and so my complete sadness was mixed together with the delirium of being overtired. After three months of living together like a married couple, it had become completely unfathomable to me that there should come a day where he would be walking one way, and where I would only be able to follow him up until a certain point only to then be forced to stay behind and watch him walk away. I had not wanted to think about it, and when the day came, I spent the whole morning before Andrew woke up sobbing into my tea, thinking about how soon, he would no longer be in our bed, sleeping, or in our office, working, or in our kitchen, cooking, or in our bathroom, —. It was just devastating. I felt homeless. I felt like I would never be able to find peace anywhere in this apartment, that I would see him everywhere, miss him everywhere. And so I cried, because I couldn’t remember my life before October.

It’s a strange thing, how we continue to walk in and out of each other’s lives like that, as (invited) invaders. Because that is what we do. We invade each other’s day-to-day lives, making them 1385 times better and richer than they were, and when we leave, we leave a huge void that is almost crippling. Even if that means that things are “just going back to normal”. We merge into each other’s lives so effortlessly. I have my Copenhagen-life and my New York-life, and in both I fit in like a hand in a custom-made glove — and I know he feels the same way. It’s such an odd way to live.

Each time we do this, say goodbye, I think this is it. I’ve had it. It’s too hard on my psyche, and I must be a masochist. But then that thought is quickly replaced by a frustration that there is no alternative. If I want this, then these are the terms (for now), and like it or not, this is a part of our relationship. Being on opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean is part of the deal.

So I said goodbye to Andrew with a shivering lip, told him I would miss him every second of every day, and then I thanked him. Thanked him for three months. Thanked him for all the hugs and kisses. Thanked him for having enriched my life so completely for almost ninety days. Then I told him, “See you in five months”.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>