The moment you walked through the door, I knew something was about to change. A broken heart set me on the path to the auditorium where I met you. As I sat in my chair, consumed with the idea I somehow didn’t belong there, you strolled into the room with your easy stride and arms swinging gently at your side—the exact opposite of me, so confident, so ready for whatever came next in this new chapter. And I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be.
We took turns passing the pen back and forth, writing the next chapter of Our Story. It seemed like after all this time, I’d finally found you. Too soon to fall so hard, too invested to walk away when you threw me a curve ball and I bravely caught it, knowing I’d already sacrificed/compromised/lost so much already. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, lose you, too.
And then, the text came. You were on your way back home, the other side of the country, a foreign land to me. Somewhere you know already has always been a wish in my heart, somewhere I would have followed you to, if all you did was ask. Fate decided to take her turn in Our Story, and I don’t think either of us possibly knows what comes next.
It’s an impossible love story. Can I even call it a love story? I like to think I can. After all, your last trip home, although we couldn’t speak to each other, you brought a piece of your home to my home for me. A little souvenir. Did you know, I’m usually the one who is always thinking of others, bringing back a small treasure to let someone know (friend or lover, it doesn’t matter) they were on my mind while we we were miles apart? And, just like that, you left again before I could learn what made you think of me. Who knows…maybe this souvenir will be my Rosebud. Or maybe, in time, we’ll reunite and I’ll inevitably cry over something as simple as a keychain. But you…you are different from other men. I know it’s not a keychain.
All I know is this. I keep thinking of tiny faceless humans who undoubtedly love and adore you, and how I wish I could know them, too. It must kill you more than you can ever express with words to not be there for them for all those small day-to-day moments. I wish you could have both, days and nights with them, and that somehow I could be a part of it, too. I want Sunday morning chocolate chip waffles in bed with you, sleepy-eyed babes climbing into bed to welcome the morning with us. Did you see this, too?
And someday, maybe, before it’s too late for my body, maybe we will create a new life together. Ten perfect little fingers, ten perfect little toes. Rosy cheeks, pouty lips curved into an arch of pure joy.
I know this cold, uninviting state I live in isn’t home, but I found home in you. And wherever you are, wherever you go, I want to go with you. Please come back to me?