The First of a Long Ten Days

The first alarm went off confusing me in my semi-conscious state not  knowing if I had actually fallen asleep.   The last thought I remembered before drifting off into this period consciousness limbo was,  “hold her while you can.”

By the time the alarm went off a third or fourth time, she crawled over me to get ready for her flight.  I wasn’t in a rush to send her off because she was leaving me for ten long days.

I swear I wasn’t like this before.  Her love consumes me, and I’m only all too willing.  I  had started missing her days before she was supposed to leave, and this last morning was tough.

She got caught trying to sneak an extra carry-on bag into the terminal so we had to get back in line at the counter to check a second bag.  I didn’t mind because I got to spend another 10 fleeting minutes with her before TSA rules separated us.

I stood in line with her as long as I could before reaching the first security checkpoint.  I kissed her lips and said goodbye before walking off to an area outside the checkpoint.  I watched her as she matriculated through the checkpoint to the escalator seeing if she’d look back to see if I was still there.  I was.  And every time she looked back I would blow a kiss to her.  I stayed until I couldn’t see her anymore.

By the time I got home I had to call and tell her how much I loved and missed her.  I swear I didn’t used to be like this, not that it’s a bad thing.  I’m lucky because she doesn’t just appreciate it, she revels in it.

I’ve always considered myself a “romantic” of sorts daydreaming about love and its exploits before really understanding what it all entailed.  I evolved (devolved?) into a “hopeless romantic,” which was probably  my darkest hour.  Unfortunately, that hour turned into weeks, months, and years to the point where it started defining me.  I would spend countless thoughts throughout the day wondering what was wrong with me lamenting everything I had become.

She saved me from me.  She is the love I daydreamed about as a boy when I didn’t know what it was, but had an idea what it should feel like.  She is the  love I believed in when I was an optimistic teenager.  She is the love I held out hope for in the despair of my young adulthood.  She is love.  All the heartbreaks,  tears, love-sick poems, musing on chick flicks, sunsets, starry nights, dewy dawns, and all the failed attempts before was only preparation for this moment, this special girl whose existence I began losing faith in.

Hurry home.  I miss you terribly.