More Than Just Four Letters

“I understand” he says and the worst part, the part that hurts the most, is that he does. He knows without me saying a single word about how important this is to me. How I have to go, have to do this, have to leave. All that is left now is to find out how to say goodbye.

“It’s not forever” I say as I lean into his embrace, my cheek pressing against his chest. I close my eyes comforted by the warmth of his body radiating through the soft wool of his jumper, hearing his heart beat steadily and reassuringly. He kisses me on the top of my head. “Nope,” he says firmly, “It’s not forever, but we are.”

Six weeks is what we have left before I catch my flight. Six glorious, shining weeks to fill with memories that will need to sustain us for the next three years. I feel like I did as a child when the end of Summer Term came and the Summer holidays stretched out ahead, full of potential and sunshine. Though I know the Autumn wind will signal the end of Summer far quicker than I will like and instead of returning to a school full of familiar faces, friends and frenemies, I will be flying thousands of miles away.

At first we fill our days with friends and families, picnics, barbecues and nights out meeting up with everyone I need to say goodbye to. Slowly, the goodbyes become harder and sadder until all have been said and those final weeks become just us. Two people living in a bubble of denial pretending Summer will last forever.

Now we spend our days walking and talking, revisiting every brick, stone or patch of grass that ever held meaning for us. This is the pub where we first met, the tree which sheltered our first precious kiss, our favourite picnic spot and even the scene of our first “big” argument down by the river. The argument that could have broken us up but instead ended in laughter as I tried to throw my shoe in anger and missed by so wide a margin that it ended up in the river instead. I still miss those shoes, though I could have lost so much more if we hadn’t made up as you gave a now shoeless me a piggy back home.

We visit the house where we rented our first room together, looking up at the bedroom window that was the very first “our” space, reminiscing about the laughter, late nights and inevitable petty arguments about who ate whose yogurt or used whose shampoo that can only be experienced when a group of completely unrelated strangers live together.

Our days are still filled with laughter and sometimes, by necessity, shared with others, the outsiders to our bubble. Our nights, however, remain just for us. Our bodies entwining, our lips and hands exploring and what feels like our very souls combining into one hot, sweaty entity. We ebb and flow from grasping, greedy passion to the sweetest of kisses and softest of embraces and back again. Holding onto each other as only two people about to be separated can. There is no I, me and mine. Our world is full of only we, us, ours.

The last precious weeks, the final few precious days have nearly all flown by and soon I shall be flying away too. I feel as if I’m under the shadow of the plane now. The day and hour of goodbye loom hugely over us as though Wednesday 14th September, 2.30pm is written across the landscape in big black letters 50ft high. Inescapable and impossible to ignore.

Every minute is precious now and we never acknowledge that I will be leaving soon. It’s an unspoken rule. If we don’t talk about it, it won’t happen. We become experts at evading any references to packing bags, checking tickets or travel arrangements to the airport. Nerves fray and we snip and snipe at each other but sorry’s are fast to follow and snits are short.

If our days move faster than we’d like, our nights now become longer as we fight off sleep, trying to stretch each day out. Putting off every tomorrow for as long as we can. Sex becomes frenzied as we try to grab as much of each other as we can. However, sex is now secondary to our need to just be together, talking, touching and simply looking at each other as much as possible.

I watch him sleep trying to burn the image of him at rest into my mind so I won’t forget the shape of his nose, the way he breathes, the exact colour and texture of every strand of hair, how his eyelashes are impossibly long and flutter a little as he dreams. I want to remember how he smells and the taste of his skin against my tongue, how it feels to hold him and be held by him. There’s not enough time. I can’t go, I can’t leave. How will I cope? How will I get up in the mornings? How will I breathe?

Time has run out. I’m so full of words that need to be said and feelings yet to be felt but my heart is strangled in my throat and every breath is painful. Tears run freely down my cheeks despite my promise to myself that I would not let his last memory of me be of a soppy, blubbery mess. I’d wanted to be Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca, all grace, class and poise, boarding the plane to carry on vital work for the resistance with her head held high. Instead I am all tear strained makeup and have hiccups from crying too hard.

I calm as he holds me. I’ll need to board soon and crying can wait. “Can we get married when I get back?” I ask. “I’d like that.” he replies. I nod, our engagement set in stone. He and I have been a “we” from the moment we met. What will three years apart matter in a whole lifetime together?

It’s the last call for boarding. I kiss him one last time and break our embrace. I place my hand on his chest and look up into his eyes, “I…” I start to speak. “Don’t.” he says, taking my hand into his “What we have is more than just four letters. One day we’ll be two people that were separated for three years held together by a word that’s just four letters long. It’s a word with a lot of miles and days to cover, let’s not wear it out.” “Ok, but you do feel it don’t you?” I smile nervously. “Yes,” he answers, “but if you say it now, I will break.” Again, I simply nod, “I have to go. I have a wedding to start planning.” “Let me know the time and place.” he answers, “I’ll be the one waiting there for you. Don’t be late!” As I board the plane there are no more tears. I know I’m doing the right thing and I know with absolute certainty that he will wait for me, for us and our future.