“This is the last time I’m going to fall asleep next to you…” his voice trailed off into the night, a certain acute sadness enveloping the darkness, as we lay on his bed that last night.
I remember not saying much. It was all I could do to stop myself from crying. Everything we’d done, and every single perfect moment, was being shred apart by the injustice of distance and the shortness of hours left for us to be together, holding each other, and holding on.
If it wasn’t so sad, it could’ve been classed as a tragic romance.
“It’ll be hard for a few months, but then it’ll be normal,” he continued after a while of just laying there in thought. I think he felt that if he kept talking during the witching hour of 2am, that we’d magically surpass the barriers of time and space and hold onto this moment forever.
Take 16 hours later, and that moment was irreparably gone, and in its place was the exact opposite of a Love Actually scene – same airport, different sentiment. Think: tight hugs, last kisses, slow moments as the time ticked closer to my flight’s departure.
At the check-in desk, he heaved my suitcase (4kg over limit) onto the conveyor belt. The attendant looked on, impressed.
“I only bring him for the manpower,” I joked, inwardly feeling the weight of the world as every little step brought us closer to the goodbye.
And then it was 6pm, and the security gates beckoned. We kissed, we said tentative goodbyes, and then I wheeled my carry-on behind the next row of barriers. I couldn’t help it, I needed to kiss him again and so I did, but this time when I turned back, so did he. I’ve never seen him get emotional before, but this one moment seemed to have shattered his reserve altogether. Or else for my sake, for tears were unashamedly falling down my cheeks, and remained that way for a long time into my 24 hour journey home xx