How… can I survive this? I just talked to Ian for 20 minutes on the phone from Boston. I won’t hear his voice until next Saturday. Just his voice! No touch of his hands or lips, no hearing his breathe beside me, no feeling his warmth against my back, no illicit looks behind my family’s back. No witty repartee – how can emails be witty? – no Mario Kart or Bob-ombs, no Halo and his mom’s making comments about our lovingness with regards to brutally sniping each other, no long baths reading books, no singing along to Jars of Clay in the Prius together. He’s been gone not 12 hours and I feel like I could lay down and die right now. So alone. No amount of wearing his shirts or holding Dogbert or even reading his words on a screen can ever substitute for the in-person interactions I have become so accustomed to. At least he’s made it to Boston safely. Now to Heathrow, to his IQP, and for me to a habit of obsessive email-checking in hopes one of the from lines will say Ian Ferguson.
– KF –