Being here now, so far away from you, wherever you are, is one of the worst parts about my daily life. I wanted to be there for your birthday, to run in that race, to share a chai latte, to catch that art show, to take that trip; I had a question to ask you about that movie you saw, about how your job was going, about if you’d ever tried yoga, about what types of things you thought about during chemo treatment; there were so many times I needed to know if it was a good time to buy bitcoin, how to handle finding a new job, if you remember that time we did that one thing and looking back now would do it again. Being here now is a choice that I made, a compounding of every choice I’ve ever had before that, and I can’t deny the majority have been good choices. But every choice I’ve ever made to stay here away from you, has been the wrong one.
I wish we could talk right now. I’m envious of those in the future who will experience teleportation devices or the singularity. Who only have to punch in a number to then arrive a foot away from the people they love. I sympathize with those not even before my own lifetime of twenty-five years, who couldn’t send letters instantly, or make free international calls, or see each others faces with the tap of a screen. I lament the future me who wishes he’d used that technology more frequently.
Being here now means time with you has stopped. When I see you again it’ll be like I saw you yesterday, won’t it? That overwhelming sense of joy I get when you smile, that unending warmth from your hug, that’s there every time we meet, isn’t it? But then I will notice the small wrinkles around your eyes, you’ll touch the thinness of my hair. We’ll look at each other as if we’d only parted yesterday, and secretly know the inevitable change between us. We might talk about it, the difference, the parts when we were away, but in the end, we already know, don’t we?
I wish I could tell you everything is OK, because it is. I wish I could here you talk about the things your normally do so I would know everything is OK, because it is. I wish I could apologize for not having a teleportation device that can see you everyday, but of course, that’s just silly isn’t it. I don’t need to tell you everything is OK, because you already know, don’t you?
You being there, so far away, is just the worst, but it’s OK. If you’re there then part of me if there with you. Just like you’re here with me now, too. And right now if you think of me, you’ll know I’m OK. And right now when I close my eyes, and squeeze my hands tight and think of you, I’ll know you’re OK. When we see each other again, we’ll already know because we’ve been there all along.
It’s almost the New Year, and it’s the worst cuz I’ll be alone, and it’s even more worse because I probably won’t hear your voice, or see your smile, or hold your hand for a while after that, but it’s OK cuz it’s just another day in the long list of days that separate us. And I’m still here, and you’re still there, so really you’re here, too, and don’t worry, cuz I’m there with you.