You leave the office, and get to the airport. The plane is delayed, because CHINA. You loose your mind, and you attempt to keep it together. You fail, you rage and then you accept. You miss the connecting flight, but manage to get the last ticket on the next one home. You’ll be late, but still on time for her. You speak on behalf of the crowd, and get the line moving. You get complimented by the ticket matron, who commends your spark. You barely care: you’ve been in the line for hours. At least you got it moving.
You drink. You drink because it’s the start of the holiday, and because it’s the end of the week. And because a cold beer feels good when you know you’ll actually get home. And because CHINA.
You get home. The next four days are perfection, bliss, magic. They adore her, all of them. How couldn’t they? It’s like a secret you had hidden up your sleeve: she’s awesome, BAM, I told you so. You meet her friends, her family, and they turn out to be fantastic as well: no surprise there, they are HER friends and family.
You can’t decide whether you prefer the loud times, or the quiet times. The moments surrounded by friends, family and noise, or the silent moments that are just the two of you. You wish you could stay in your home town with her, and experience the normal life: you cannot wait to escape to an exotic location and explore and adventure. You realise that over time, you can do both. It’s a luxury everyone has, but most ignore: if you aren’t happy, you can move to somewhere you’ll be happy. So simple, but so often overlooked.
You stay awake for close to 17 hours. You drink beers in a quiet airport bar. You miss her in a way you’ve never missed anyone, or anything. You think about when next you’ll be together.
So soon, but not soon enough. New plans begin to form.