One hand is in my coat pocket, and the other one is firmly grasping yours. A ball of warmth forms in between as I walk with you, my love. My stomach turns and my eyes fill with tears. It’s time to say goodbye, because you’re leaving me for a while. Why can’t I come with you? You’re taking a two‑month sabbatical, and I will continue working as always. It feels unfair, but that’s just how life goes sometimes. I envy this opportunity of yours, and I hope it brings you what you seek.
Because you booked your tickets late, I couldn’t request a vacation at work to be able to join you. But after all, it was your trip, and I didn’t want to impose myself on you. As much as I would have loved to take a break for two months and spend some time with you, this is your adventure now. And so we have arrived at the airport in front of the gates. This is as far as I am allowed to go with you and it’s time to say goodbye. Everything keeps changing, but I will stay the same—waiting and longing for you here at home. I promise you this.
Everything has been discussed and arranged between the two of us. About how we’ll be considerate with each other, be honest in what we want, and how you’ll tell me about your escapades. That way I at least have some sort of choice in the matter, and so you’ll hurt me as little as possible. Unless I’m already asleep, which is a bit unfair, because with the time difference most of your early evenings are nights for me. So I can’t respond because I’m supposed to be asleep.
But for now, I still trust that everything will be okay, and it feels okay—until the weekend comes around. Two queer techno parties with play areas are on the agenda for you. I shake away the feeling and try to focus on the moment. And I will try my best to be the boyfriend in this open relationship that you want me to be. Loving and, above all, accepting. Tears fill my eyes and we say our goodbyes. I watch as your big shoes slowly move up the escalator and out of view. What am I going to do now?
The weekend slowly arrives, and a sense of nervousness comes rushing in like the tide. Like a tidal wave, it floods my calm mind and sows panic seeds in my brain. Instantly sprouting worrisome thoughts. Didn’t I read a book you recommended to help me with this anxiety? It took little to convince myself that inevitably, this will still hurt me. With sweet words you gave me the benefit of the doubt. “I’ll be on my medication, so not much will happen. Maybe I won’t even go to the second party on Sunday because I’ll be too tired.” It calmed my mind, but with you not by my side, I have to do it myself now. I breathe in deep and try to convince myself that everything will be fine. He loves you; remember that. And even if he does things with other men, he will still return home to you.
You’ve only been gone for a bit, but I already miss you so intensely that I’m counting down the nights that I’ll sleep without you. I feel unsafe even before safety has been taken away from me. No alcohol or distractions from friends will help me this weekend; it will be just me getting through my anxiety. Will you sleep in his bed on Sunday? Tell me you won’t. Will you be safe? My brain has desperately begun building walls around my heart, even though I know it won’t help protect me from these nasty thoughts. Should we have made better agreements together? Please meet me halfway; otherwise I won’t make it through nineteen—no, eighteen—nights like this. You don’t pick up the phone.
Morning comes and I only had a dry granola bar for breakfast, and that’s it. My appetite has vanished like snow in the sun with this emptiness inside my body. This stinging feeling of loneliness and the not knowing. I hate that this feeling takes over me so easily and ruins my day. Can we go back to the airport again, where I hold your hand? But this time, you come home instead of leaving me?
Eighteen more nights alone.
Martijn Winkel 