Oh God! I fear your fears may be well-founded. That I cannot stay. This propensity to leave. That neither I, nor anyone has been able to keep me still. And though you are like none other and I have never wanted to stay as much as now, my soul slowly longs for the other.
A lifetime of leaving, I tell him. I don’t know how much he can hear me. Friends leaving. Family leaving. Lovers leaving for the war and never returning. Even when they did. Mother leaving. And, of course, me leaving. Leaving it all. Leaving is my habit.
Every time a leaving, a space. And in this space, all the ghosts return, longing for union.
He writes to tell us he has arrived in Paris. That he is on the train now. It’s raining. He asks me how I am. Good. Up for hours. Contemplating longing versus union. He says it’s inner-esting. He tells us he had no sleep the night before but seems able to function without it. Is he eating those chocolates we brought him before going to bed? He says no. He is saving/savoring them. That every bite reminds him of me and then he sends us a wide-eyed, rosy-cheeked emoji. Back to longing and union… Which one? He says how about longing for union? But that’s longing, isn’t it? Yes, he says. Just word play. He just wants to play with me, he says. All the time. Will he meet a French lover, we ask? The message takes a while to get delivered. And still longer for his response to reach us. He says he has to change trains soon. That there may be interruptions. That he’s underground so signal is gone. This is the last transmission. And in this space once again, all the ghosts plus you.
Can he take it? Can he hold us until maybe one day, while we are walking through the super market aisles looking for paprika, we notice we are one and none.