Wednesday, August 6, 2014

on the run



Dear Egypt,

I miss you.

Today the missing reared its head, a full week after my return. Jet lag alone took me that long to shake. I'm always surprised by the reality of having to adjust after hopping so many time zones in a day. It's a real thing, this jet lag. For whatever reason I return convinced I can beat it, find the loop hole, grit my way through it early. Once again, sorely mistaken.

I wrote a letter to Renee today detailing little things about visiting during Ramadan. How your streets emptied then filled depending on position of the sun/moon. I wrote three pages and still left out so much. Maybe the missing started the moment I sat down and tried to capture you in sentences. I could spend days describing it and I would still miss something.

And J. Oh the reams I could write on the missing.

I cried hard into his chest the night before I left. I pressed my nose into his neck and hoped to lock in the smell of his skin. I tried to memorize that heartbeat beneath my ear, fingers plotting out terrain of limbs. All those things I grew used to were going to be gone again. It was the "again" that made my heart ache. We've done this before, this parting thing. You are a fool if you think it gets easier. I couldn't sleep that night because I didn't want to sleep. Sleeping meant the night progressed, and a progressing night brought morning. I thought this and consciously resisted. Eventually I drifted for a couple hours before the necessary 4am wake up time.

The drive to the airport was quiet, dark--I stared out the window and watched the buildings fly by the roadside, traffic light at such an early hour. All of the buildings with piles of satellites jutting from their rooftops. The end of Ramadan, groups of young folk still awake and swinging legs from roadside barriers.

The trip back was fairly good to me--despite a 2.5 hour delay in Paris. I came back to America on a gigantic Airbus plane...one of these bad boys:



This massive mode of transit made the NYC to Cincinnati plane feel like a child's toy. My sister and dad picked me up and I felt drunk due to 24 hours of next to no sleep. I talked nonstop on the drive home, then crashed into bed with ringing ears and twitching appendages.

Since then it's been a fog upon a fog.

I'm coming out of the fallen cloud, though. J. and I found our routine again--daily calls after he gets out of work. We talk every day and I am thankful for that. Sometimes I feel like I can offer nothing conversation-wise besides proclamations of how much I miss and crave his company. Some days seems to be so full of missing. I smile at the ring on my hand often, which might sound silly or like I have cartoon hearts for eyes but I don't care. Our love is tough, for sure, but it also renders me wonderfully mush-like. I'll exist both stone and velvet.

I am happy. I never thought I could be one to claim such a statement but goshdamn it's true.

More soon. Right now it's off to bed for an early morning tomorrow. Dad and I are flying to Florida to visit my aunt and cousin for a week. Part of me wishes I wasn't traveling again so soon after returning from Egypt, but the rest of me wants more movement. I unloaded my suitcase only to repack it, and I could in fact get used to that.



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