I’ve convinced myself that I was flying thousands of miles away from home, not for solely escaping from all reminders of what couldn’t be, but for the great adventure. The great exhale.
I packed everything I could fit in three suitcases, careful not to lug around his ghost with me. I would have left everything that was tainted with his name behind, but it was impossible. There’d be nothing left.
But the distance, instead of drowning thoughts of him, breathed life to another kind of longing. Lost in waiting for his name to light up my night, wishing he was everywhere I go. Cursing the time difference, and all the space between us every day.
Two months down and four more to go, in a beautiful country with so much to discover, to visit, yet here I am, already counting the days I come home.