The pull of it is so strong it brought him down from his heights, from his work, from his orbiting out there in the ether to me, to stand near me, to breathe me in, to wallow in my presence. And I felt bad for him, that I've tried so hard to ignore him, that I've bickered with him for the sake of pushing him away, for the pretense that I don't care.
I do care. Of course I do. But I can't. Because one day he'll be gone. And then I'll never see him again. And I can't wait for that day. Even just ten minutes with him and I'm rendered into a paste of unformed clay. He's just too smart, so keen, the epitome of exuberant.
I push him away so that it'll be easier for me, but I never considered that it was hard for him to be around me, to see me, to hear my laughter, to see my smile, to wonder what I've been thinking.
As the days accumulate and the arrival of his departure comes closer, the breath I've been holding in is getting harder to hold and I know the release I'm waiting for will come sooner than it should and maybe, just maybe, there will be a breach in the contract we've crafted. I hope not; for it will all amount to nothing anyway.
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