$110 Including Tax

Pretty much since I somehow managed to sober up after hitting the sauce just a bit too hard at the airport bar on Friday, I've been trying to conceive of what I'd write once M3 and I parted ways on Sunday afternoon.

When the time finally came, I thought perhaps maybe I'd end up waxing domestic for one final occasion about all of the terrifically routine and fantastically mundane moments we shared during the two days that he stayed with me in my mid-sized town. Or, provided they came to fruition as expected, I might instead elect to pen a tenderly bittersweet missive about our weekend away, remarking how it felt to finally spend countless hours together without having to say goodbye.

Instead, having returned to my house this evening for the first time since leaving it on Friday to meet M3 up north, I find myself struck by an emotion that is perpexingly stunning in its gravity yet also entirely not surprising in its arrival. Its a sense of loss... an absence of something that was fleetingly barely even present to begin with.

There's no M3 sitting at my dining room table while I make dinner.
And he won't be walking through the door any minute now pronouncing that honey, he's home.
And I don't get to fall asleep in his arms.
Or wake up to his kisses even though I can practically see my own breath as we sit in a big ass hotel room bed drinking really bad hotel room coffee made in a teeny tiny hotel room coffee maker because to procure something of higher quality would necessitate actually getting out of bed and its the first time we've ever had occasion to enjoy the luxury of time uninterrupted plus we'd have to put clothes on.
Or stroll to breakfast with my arm linked through his own and then completely lose my appetite once our meal arrives because I'm entirely and beautifully caught up in how much I adore him...and just how terrifying that truly is.
Or smile to myself as he makes my friends laugh.
Or look into his eyes and wonder if what I think I'm feeling is indeed really what I'm feeling.

Five consecutive days and four consecutive nights including 48+ hours of uninterrupted togetherness time, in the end, proved wholly insufficient. So with virtually no regard for pragmatic logic or even the most debatable tenets of fiscal responsibility, we evaluated a variety of hairbrained schemes, ultimately settling on one that -- even though it was expensive and inconvenient and caused me (more) sleep deprivation in the end -- was also both terribly spontaneous and romantic.

And so, this morning at 5am, pulling sleepily out of my parking space, I watched M3 stride back across the street to his building. And just as I was a simple few, reluctant inches from crossing the intersection, headed for home, he abruptly spun around and broke into a light jog. Leaning into the now open window of the one-way rental car responsible for the two of us being able to prolong our imminent goodbye if only for another few hours, he granted me one final, sweet kiss.

It was worth about a million bucks.