A year ago you came to me, like you knew that my patience for this mad mission had run out. And I have had a year to prepare for this ‘goodbye’ – which really is a ‘see you later’ – but knowing that something is coming does not make it painless.
The tide has a way of advancing and receding. And circumstance has a way of shaping perspective…
You tethered me in critical moments to solid ground; you taught me to see possibilities I had not considered before. I can’t thank you enough for that.
On days like yesterday—when feelings are far too complex for words, what I have to say comes out in cupcakes. And, well, sometimes guacamole.
It’s easier to let actions speak.
(Or cupcakes, rather.)
Then on days like today, when I am through being strong for you—I retreat to my corner a bit broken or bruised and wrestle my thoughts onto paper.
It is hard to separate the feelings I have on your behalf and those I have for me.
London feels lonely this morning.
I am sad to see you leave, but so thankful for what is waiting for you. While I ache with envy over your return, I guess you might feel the same about my extended stay, each of us knowing we are exactly where we ought to be… I hurt for you, understanding what ‘goodbye’ might be like. Most of all though, I do have a great peace in my heart. You are taking ‘home’ with you (and take it everywhere you go). I cannot imagine an adventure that you could not face together.
Though it has certainly been painful watching you go, it has been well worth the time (and love and laughs and lack of sleep) we had. Every star has ‘to burn itself up just to make itself alive.’ (Emily Saliers) And I think we have lots of light left.