Dearest Nearest

One of those rare days when you’re at work and I’m not.

Any other day and we would’ve both been at work. You’d have hopped over to my side many times by now, wreaked havoc amidst the girls, stolen their food, changed their statuses, destroyed a few things and ambled off pleasantly, a volley of shrieks, screams and curses in your wake.

But I’m at home, packing my bags and ticking things off a checklist.

Sitting here ensconced in the comfortable surroundings of our room, the last three and a half years are swirling about in my head, like a great, big eddy of experiences embedded in memories.

Overwhelmed by it, I decided to come up for air and write. To the most calming, most loving, most soothing influence in my life. You.

Husband, we’ll soon be in different cities.

Now, you know, I’m not much for long-distance relationships. The last time we were apart, we were dating. And the distance led us up to the realization that we were ready to grow old together.

This time round, we’re married. This time, there’s not much that either of us can do to close the gap between us.

Except, be strong.

I have no idea what it’s going to be like.

When I won’t wake up to your warm, always-laughing, chocolate-y brown eyes. When I can’t slip my hand into yours, whenever I like. When your shoulder won’t pillow my head at night. When I no longer grumblingly keep your clothes in the cupboard, and your mess out of sight. When your incredible head massages are no more my lullaby. When you won’t sit and indulge my antics asinine. When just to see you, dear husband, across the country, I’ll have to fly.

Yeah, I guess, it’ll be pretty hard. I’ll probably be sitting in my room, ticking days off a wall like a miserable convict. Counting down to when we meet next. Just as I’m sitting here right now, counting down the hours to when you come home.