It’s a
bit if a cliché; I leave home to be with you, I stay because you make me feel
alive. I leave for the adventure and stay for this thrill, to make you love me back. Somewhere along the
way you did, and that was worth the world to me. It was worth becoming a
foreigner, anonymous, homesick - or just sick sometimes. It was a demanding
relationship with a maniac, but it was with the sexiest, most incredible maniac
in the world.
You never promised me anything. I knew the deal, the terms were fair: when it stops being good, we’ll leave. But it didn’t, for a very long time. Sometimes it felt like an entire life. And when it did stop, I started making excuses; It’s just a phase. It’s February. Nothing a Caribbean vacation wouldn’t fix.
I got
used to you, it felt comfortable and everything else disappeared for a while.
We started our own little family.
We always
knew it wasn’t going to last forever. The truth is, we lasted longer than
anyone, or even I, thought we would.
Just like
that scene in every movie, 45 minutes in - or seven years in real time - CUT TO
us all grown up, silver streaks in our hair, uncool jeans and Birkenstocks,
spending our weekends between farmer's markets, ice-cream runs and children's
meltdowns. You go through the motions but feel unfulfilled, the same bars aren't
as fun, holidays start to sting.
And then
you realize; it’s time to go home now.
Thanks
for all the memories. xox
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