SHIT! was your next text that night you flew out of LA. goddamn, did not mean to say that for the first time over a fucking text.
You were in the air by then, and your text had been delayed by takeoff and the time it took for you to connect to the shitty plane wifi. My response — i love you, too — had gotten to you delayed as well, and it got tangled up in your flustered shit shit shit and who says that over fucking TEXT, but I didn’t give a shit, was giddy you’d said it all, those words I’d wanted to say to you so badly.
I took a screenshot of it. I look at it every so often and get giddy all over again.
You’re in Boston now for work, and I’m in Anchorage with my family, and we’re texting over a four-hour time difference. It’s been a week since you’ve gone, since I last saw you, kissed you, held you, and I miss you. I wish you were here with me.
We flew into Anchorage around midnight last night, and we flew into the sunset, a brilliant slash of orange on the horizon between the dark blue of the ocean and the dark blue of the cloudy sky. It won’t get pitch dark here, though it also won’t be as light throughout the night as it was in Iceland, and I love this, this whole midnight sun thing, the light that goes on and and on and on.
I can see how that could drive people mad, though. The constant light makes me never want to sleep.
I feel like I’m all over the place. I can’t stop smiling, can’t stop sighing, can’t stop looking at my phone to see if there’s a new text, a new message. My family must be writing it off as my being happy to be here, to be traveling, and, yes, there is that, and, yes, this eggs benedict made with smoked salmon cakes was delicious, and Alaska is breathtakingly beautiful, but it’s all beautiful and delicious in ways that make me hope that, one day, we’ll come back together — it’ll be you and me discovering the world and creating our own memories together.