I hate leaving them. It doesn't matter how attractive the destination, in the final hours approaching departure, I always regret the decision to go, procrastinate packing, scheme to get out of it. Anything could happen, I tell myself. Life is too short to spend one precious minute away from the ones I love. Why should I go?
We all feel the undertow of impending separation. We touch more. Hug longer. I bring my face close to their hair and breathe in like its my last chance at oxygen for a thousand miles.
It gets hard to sleep at night. I wake up to find Patrick on the couch watching late night tv, and I curl up beside him, rather than return alone to our bed. I can't get close enough. We kiss the way people kiss for the very first time.
And then it is time. I force myself to push off, to remember who and how I was and would be without them, so that when it is their turn, I will still know.
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