Eight Short Years

It feels like she left a lifetime ago. It’s almost hard to believe it’s only been two hours. Not much longer since we made love in this bed. The sheets still smell of her. Everything smells of her. She’s going to the stars. The same stars I’ve seen gleaming in her eyes every time I’ve looked into them, since I discovered how glorious they were. My heart stops in its tracks when I think of the days to come. It will be eight years until I see her again. For me at least; to her it will be just under five months. Five short months and eight long years. It could drive a person insane. When she told me, the first thing she did was apologise. What a silly thing to do, as if she had a choice in the matter. The stars had been calling her her whole life. I could never stand in the way, I knew this from the moment I saw what was hidden in her gaze, even when she looked at me and told me she loved me.

Halfway out the door she turned, looked at me, her hair still wet and clinging to her neck. She hesitated for a moment, then slowly asked;

“Will you wait for me?” I told her yes, kissed her, and said goodbye. How hard it must be for her. Not knowing what will happen to me, worried I’ll get lonely or forget her. Will you wait for me? What a silly thing to ask, as if I have a choice in the matter. Eight short years and five long months. Yes. I will wait for her.

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