At less than a week left it feels like dreaming. Especially when we start with a two-hour conversation. On my side the only light is the glow from the screen. On his side the sunlight is streaming in the windows.
Words cross oceans: Fascination with the twenties. Have you seen Miss Pettigrew? Sounded like explosions. I love French music. Dark wood floors with white walls. Cristina Donà in translation: your heart is a calm sea and one night is not enough to cross it. Get out of here you crazy. I’m thinking about sailing. Look at this butterfly headband, it’s huge! I think I understand London. I love you.
The screen hides half of my face and makes my smile look enormous. The way it feels. The way it feels to be in love. Crazy ethereal unexpected maddening breathtaking glorious glowy free. “This is kind of beautiful,” I say. Me alone in my house, he alone in his, and a feeling so close to nearness I close my eyes and pretend he’s in the room. “I’m ready,” he says. “For everything.”
I can't believe he's almost home.