March 14th
I thought I could handle a few days apart. A week at most, to get my affairs in order. I told myself that it was necessary, that I needed time to tie up the loose ends from our trip, to clear my head, to regain some sense of control. But I was wrong. Completely, utterly wrong. It’s been less than an hour, and already, I feel like I’m suffocating without her.
The moment we separated, something inside me twisted, a tightness in my chest that hasn’t eased since. The thought of her being so far away—it’s unbearable. I told myself I could manage it, that it was good for me to have this space, but the truth is, I don’t want space. I don’t want distance. I need her close, always within reach, where I can see her, touch her, know that she’s safe.
I’m currently trying to distract myself, burying myself in work, in the details of the emails I’m trying to respond to as I wait for my plane to board, but nothing is. Everything feels hollow, meaningless without her.
I keep imagining her, alone in her house, two hundred miles away. It’s too far. Farther than I can stand. What if something happens? What if she needs me? What if someone else is there, trying to take her from me? The thought drives me mad, fills me with a rage I can barely control.
I need to see her. I need to be with her. Today.
The more I try to convince myself that I can wait, that I can be patient, the more I realize how impossible that is. I can’t wait. I won’t.
I don’t care that it’s a two-hundred-mile drive. She needs me, even if she doesn’t know it yet. And I need her—more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life.
I’ll be there by dinnertime, and when I see her, when I hold her again, everything will be right. Everything will make sense. I’ll figure out a way to explain it, to make her understand why I couldn’t stay away. Maybe I won’t have to explain. Maybe she’ll just see it in my eyes, feel it in the way I touch her, and she’ll understand. She has to.
I’m leaving now. I’ll be with her soon. Where I belong, where she belongs—with me.
Always.