Knowing that 25 years have passed makes no difference…he is the same. Perhaps I am not; indeed I am not…but the laughter and the joy at seeing him have remained identical. The odd sense of humour, the laughter and the blue, blue eyes that used to look at me as though I was worth a damn.
Having him here for a week has been a wonderful vacation from the stumbling reality of my life–knowledge that comes with a price. All things must end, must they not? And when they do, how does life continue again. The joy that I have found once more in this short period of time has been entirely too brief and I do not know how I will manage once more when it is over.
Myopic self pity is not appealing. ever. And yet I sit here thinking ahead to when the joy will end, as all things are wont to do. There is a terror to being alone, and I hate it.