I imagine if I had an artistic bone in my body, this energy would be placed into creating a piece the size of a wall with beautiful colours splattered against it. Writing is joy for me, and I do it best when I can relate. I am fascinated by the human brain and the emotions it can create, and how these emotions can manifest in physiological reactions. True, at times, it has been more challenging to see the beauty of it all, but for the most part, exploring these emotions is an exciting adventure. Reality is alluring. Observing the ebbs and flows of life is addictive.

Patience, yes, it’s a virtue. One that is escaping me each day that goes by. You cloud my thoughts. I suppose it is my turn.

I wake up and look at the screen of my phone to see if you have responded. You have. I reply. I check the time difference and prepare myself for a day of quiet as I wait for you to tend to your messages. My ego tells me you have not read my message, or “seen” it so that when you do, you can provide me with an adequate response.

I read your memoir. I skip to the parts about me, absorbing your words once more. I put on that song we shared in our stone cottage, willing your presence. I read the lyrics as they appear, right here in this moment I wish I could reach you, she sings. Dangerously, I imagine our lives together.

Right now you are returning my messages, after a day of silence. As if I manifested this response through allowing the song into my presence. I put my phone down so as to not appear too keen on responding. I watch as your messages appear. I read them without “seeing”. Just wait, I tell myself, the same way my mother used to scold my impatience as a child. I can’t. I don’t want to. I want to know more.

What is it that has thoughts of you consuming me so in the past few weeks. You are so goddam front of mind. Out of the blue. You are now on my mind incessantly. Like a fear that I will lose you, years after letting you go. Stupid, I tell myself. 

I try to remind myself of the advice I so nonchalantly shared with you. That the universe will provide as it should. I tell myself to just have some goddam patience. But right now, I feel brimming. Like, I’m about to explode. And I have no idea where this has come from.

I can’t wait. I tell you of this feeling I have. It was a rapid response. I’m writing now to escape the nerves. The threat of disappointment. I’m prepared for it, as always. I have Plan B, C and D already mapped out. I can’t enact these however until I find out how you feel. I am a sitting duck.

Still, I come back to questioning why. Why all of a sudden? Was your memoir a universal punishment for ignoring what was right in front of me, peering through a locked window into the promise of what could have been? How rare to get two shots at something, could I be so lucky.

What I express to you is the tip of the iceberg, for fear of frightening you, annoying you, even. Nine minutes, still no response. He might be at work, he did say he was working, yeah that’s gotta be it.

I don’t wish to doubt the Universe. I do not wish to push. To me, here on this side of the world, I still feel a deep connection to you. I wonder if I live in a fantasy world. I wonder if you still feel the same connection in return. I wonder if you are still the deep person I encountered all those years ago, and whether I form part of that. I feel guilt for questioning, of course you are.

I wonder, can you pick up on the gravity of my emotions through these cellular words? I’m imagining again, and I am suspicious that this imagination will lead to an anti-climax. Since writing, I am conscious that I romanticise all situations. Isn’t that what all writers do? Live in a false world where the hopes and dreams of one prevail. Twenty-one minutes. Still no response.

Normally, if I have done something I shouldn’t have, my intuition will tell me. It will wrap me on the knuckles and say you shouldn’t have done that. Right now, she’s OK. I’m kept at bay. I have no regrets, no doubts about whether or not I should have told you. So, I will continue to wait for your response. Madly typing away here to fill in the minutes. It’s been a big day for me. Hopefully I fall asleep soon, so I no longer have to stare at my phone waiting for your reply. My eye lids are heavy. One more look. Twenty-nine minutes. Ok.

It’s the middle of the night, and I awaken. You’ve sent me a message. I put my phone down so as to not impact my rest. Too late. I need to know what you’ve said.

Your words are kind, reassuring and affirming. I have an answer and the uncertainty has disappeared. In that I find comfort. As suspected, or rather, prepared for, they are words that for now dissolve the fairy tale ending.

The emotion that surfaces is not one of disappointment, but strangely one of freedom. As though I am finally letting go, lightly, of all of the moments in years gone by that shaped me so. Not a book I will throw away, but a book I will keep on the shelf and fondly reminisce over.

I speak oft of the Universe and the role she has to play in guiding me. The term comes to me as I can’t find other words to describe what I feel, what I notice.  I’m ultra-aware of the changes in gear and directional shifts that deliver me into one world or another. What I feel now is lunged into the future, a lesson perhaps in not looking behind, but rather at what’s ahead. 

I cannot think of a more perfect word to describe what we shared than the title of that very song. An ode to you and to us.