schweblog

Natalie left for Lyon at 12:20 PM. I walked her to the security checkpoint and whispered the sweet nothings in her ear. I wished that I could have come up with something more to tell her. A phrase, a sentence that would have summed up everything we have. Something memorable and significant. The most I could do was choke back the tears and tell her that I loved her.

The first few minutes are just shock. You’ve left the airport and you’re just sitting there on the way back home, expecting to see her in a few hours or a few days or maybe, at the latest, a few weeks. But the truth kicks in after you get home and you see the things that remind you of her. I held the tee shirt she wore last night to my face and inhaled her for a bit, trying through the sobs to memorize her scent before it dissipates from the fabric.

You get your bearings. You pull yourself together. You remind yourself that 5 months is not that long and that she will be back in just a few short weeks, during which you will be busy with school. But then you see the sheets the two of you made love on this morning, the little bit of makeup that she forgot in the bathroom, the note she wrote you on a napkin. It gets harder.

And it’s not getting easier.