Long distance relationship is difficult. A kind of piecing together of things hoping that one day the relationship would become whole. And sometimes there are days when the door is wide open, with hopes that the relationship would be completed as if my man would walk right through the door. But the door would fling itself shut, with him on the other side unable to open it.
It was that feeling of wanting something more than I already have. The feeling that the day would never come and the only thing left was to end it all. Just forget about that happy ending, a dream that being so far apart would propel us to finally bring us together has faded.
As the years go by and I see my friends with their children and their husband, I longed to just be satisfied, with the children. But still nothing. Fear running through, of time devouring me, preventing me of giving that greatest gift of life.
Here I sit trapped in my bedroom, looking in the distance out my window, desperately trying to keep my sanity. Hope had left me this morning. I had not heard from my dear love for over a week and feared for his life. Martial law had taken place in his country and every door stained and marked for fear of spreading a deadly disease. I had lost my anger a few days ago, remembering telling him to leave at once before it was too late.
He laughed about the news that came from my lips to his ears. A pandemic from another country quarantined couldn’t possibly spread to his country so quickly. He thought I was caught up in the hype of the news and gossip. He thought that his mind and his reasoning was much more grounded than my silly thoughts of panic.
Now, I sit alone in my room knowing that nothing good comes my way, that hope is just that, with no deliverance. He didn’t answer my calls and he didn’t call. The alarms that had sounded inside of me was gone. The hope was done. The fear fizzling away, leaving me with emptiness.
I haven’t noticed the headache creeping until I turned my head to look at the door. The pain was intense. Yet, no tears came. It was my fault for hoping to live while waiting for completeness. The room had become intense and hot. It was me that was boiling, as I heard the whistling of the tea kettle.
Dragging my feet, I walked slowly for my legs felt heavy. Fear was now gone, blindness took me as I searched through the shadows of the darkness into the kitchen.
The whistling was the last alarm. The last time I would know he was gone. I turned the fire off and sat at the kitchen table, wondering why I was here and not there with him. I trembled at the thought of dying with him and immediately forgiven myself for that thought. It was him that should have been here with me, together, alive. I couldn’t forgive him. I wasn’t willing to take the blame. I wasn’t the one that should have made the sacrifice. It was him. It was all him. Fear came again.
Could he not have truly loved me? Could be had loved another? Is that why he stayed? Why we had a long distance relationship? Why?
Tears filled my eyes, at last, as I squinted in the dark. I saw clear as day, his portrait staring back at me from the kitchen counter. I had left it there earlier and forgotten about it. Now, I see, it was his eyes that met mine. In the dark of the night I see.
I met him with my eyes all over again. He was, once again, my friend, my love, my dear, my heart.
I met him with my eyes as I saw and felt him holding me, looking deep inside my soul wanting me. It was then I know he was finally with me. Our long distance relationship was no more.