August 2019, Long Beach. Whether gone for 15 minutes or 5 hours, the greeting was the same. Always impossible to say who missed whom more, given we provided so much for each other in such equilibrium. The joy in simply coming home doesn't exist anymore, so it's easier to never leave. Yet, it's just as bad being stuck inside without him. Circular torture, coming or going. Whether behind closed doors or in the light of day, a kind of prison.
Four weeks have passed and maybe it doesn't feel as constantly surreal anymore. Now the shock mostly comes in flashes or in dreams. Last night, there was one about how the handle to my front door fell off, and there was no way to lock up my house and keep him secure inside if I had to leave. Someone would steal him! And so without that handle, I'd have to stay home forever with him. Sounds great to me, actually.
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