He is going away, and I don’t want him too.
“It’s only for a couple of days. I’ll be good. No time for anything else — too much work to get done.”
I believe him, but my world gets smaller when he is away.
He is working to secure our future, and I get it. My job (for that is what it is, a job, not a vocation) brings in a wage. It will all stop when I’m with child.
My husbands loves his work — the meetings, the travel (especially on trains), the drama and the office interactions. He tells me everything. I feel like I know them all.
As the train is preparing to depart, I lean into him, feeling his warmth and his strength. He’s thinking about the tasks ahead, all played out in a distant city, and I’m thinking about him, yearning for his return and feeling his hands on me, celebrating.
My hair will cascade over his body, and he’ll run his fingers through it.
“Don’t ever cut your hair, my darling,” he will say.
“But when I get older it will not be attractive,” I will say.
“I don’t care. I love the way you plait it. I love the way it sways when you walk and flys when you run, and I love the way it feels when you let it down, and it caresses my skin.”
These things will happen, but for now, there is the agony of goodbye.