Remembering

The papers were nightmarish, particularly the first one, which I completely cocked up and moped about for the rest of the week (and still worry about, somewhere in the back of my head). Packing for home was a mad rush, tempered by a sort of wistfulness because me and Punky would be walking separate paths from now on. The flight was a battle of uncomfortable airline seats versus the desperate need to sleep after the adrenalin-fuelled midnight oil burning of studying.

It's a funny thing, but four months apart and you start thinking you're single again, in the sense that you adapt to being alone, that you plan your days without factoring in someone else, without needing to consult anyone else's opinion, without the expectation that your time will be shared. And although when you first part the loneliness feels overwhelming, after a while you get used to it, so much so that when you first come home again you are almost startled by the realization that the person waiting for you on the other side of the gate is yours, insofar as they allow themselves to be. And the face is, at first, unfamiliar from months of absence, as is their touch on your skin.

But the heart has never forgotten, storing up the sound of your voice for when I felt lonely, providing that little kick when I see the familiar email address in my inbox, silently counting down the days until it's being wrapped up with someone else's heart again. Now, I run my palm down the broad strong sweep of your back that I love so much, relishing the feel of your skin beneath my fingers, I laugh at the things you say and do to make me laugh, I watch the curl of smoke in the night air, my heart beats a little faster every time you reach for my hand and it slips into yours, and I wonder how I could have ever stood being away for so long.