Trip #2

The day you left I poured our wine and thought about getting my nails done. I got so far as the computer before I was hit with my reflection in the mirror you hung for me and decided I couldn’t go anywhere. Yes, my eyes were bright aquamarine, but that is their state when swimming in pointless tears. Crying at the bus stop while you get on and go away doesn’t push us forward in time. Crying in the bedroom while you look up at me from packing doesn’t finish your masters for you. Crying together in the kitchen doesn’t make Colorado, New York. Crying last night on the train for a spilt second doesn’t garner anything but sympathy from the other twentysomethingwhitegirl watching my tiny clutches at your pocket while you stand above me running your fingers through my hair and down my cheek. Once again we are left with memories of you rolling over in the sunlight saying sweetly “Let’s go to Coney Island” like a small boy with Ferris Wheel dreams. Us getting on the train so late that we miss all the traffic and ride for an hour, playing pass’n’play Scrabble, talking about that Ikea catalogue, and running my fingers in your curls. Days that pass in a flash, all filled with you calling me out when I’m wrong, asking me when the last time I wrote anything was, promising to always make me breakfast. Strong statements that you’ll take care of me even when I don’t need or think I want it and that you have forever on your mind. Gastric memories of hot dogs, bacon cheese fries, desserts made at midnight, Malbec for me, deep fried Twinkies, endless Cliff bars for the days of nonstop life, pink doughnut surprises, whiskey and chicken in Brooklyn, and protein plates bought in haste while I rehearsed and you supported. We never hungered; we ate our fill of life and one another. And once again, I’m in this suddenly larger bedroom with our dirty sheets and nothing but the ghost of our relationship to grasp at for months.

The longer I sit here, the sooner it is you come back. The longer I sit here, the further it feels since you left.