In the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of you, lone figure, silhouette, watching me drive on down the hill. I catch a glimpse of you, watching me, waving.
You leaver, left behind. You pioneer, left to observe as I journey into a new land. You leaver, you stay, you grant me freedom to come and to go.
Only—what is this in me that cannot bear to stay and cannot bear to go?
I talk of “presence” and “intentionality” and still our time has been fragmented and fraught with distraction. All this time we have been two moons orbiting separate planets.
How can I leave when we have not truly seen each other? When we have not truly spoken? When the moment of encounter slipped through my fingers?