I left him. We had a passionate kiss outside the tube on my way back to the US. He held on to me, laughed at my sweet face as he described it and said, “I’ll see you later.” It is never goodbye. It is always next time and until I say goodbye, I do not think I will ever have the peace I need yet so desperately disdain. So I looked at him as he stood there staring back. I instantly felt every emotion I have ever felt for or from him. Treacherous heartache, loneliness, complete wild inhibitions, deep intimacy, a connection beyond anything I ever felt, beauty, intelligence, actually recognition, sweet sense of longing and an absolute rage of never really knowing.
I love every single one of these emotions, I cherish each pang that reverberates through my body. And yet, I value myself, my delicate heart and the intensity in which I love from.
I gave him one last sweet and simple kiss. I smiled at him with all the love I had for him and said, “Goodbye, baby.”
When I found my seat on the plane an hour later and sat, still among the shuffling folks tucking their luggage away, I covered my head with my scarf. And beneath the soft white cashmere, I began to weep. Weep at the loss, weep at the desire, weep at the many things that may never have been and will never be. Not now. I left him, not like I have left him before, but in a way that felt total and final. And among the agony I truly felt, there is some relief. I can bring my desire with me now. It is no longer within his grasp. I had no longer left it as a souvenir for him to watch over until the next I fall into his arms. It is mine again. It will be mine forever.