He is back. A day early, without a phonecall. Caballito (Mr. Unavailble) texted me the news. He said he would explain later. I await “later.” I cannot lie. I am trying to ignore the emotions. History tells me that “later” will calm them, that there will be an explanation that satisfactorily contests my sentiments that he mustn’t care.
Yet, as I wait, I am upset. Anxious. Anticipating. And hurt. Trying to ignore any feelings until their appropriate time. A time when he didn’t have to rush back to this country to solve issues. A time where it’s just us. A time where we are actually speaking.
I search for an “off” button. A “ctrl-w” for this window of thought that can’t be worked on now. Perhaps, a “ctrl-q” would be better. Quit-without having to return to these frustrations.
Our bodies. Will our bodies meet? WIll these thoughts leave me long enough so that I don’t sabotage their reacquaintance? Will it be the second act of a shy dance between lovers? Or even better, will it just be a dance?
Please, I ask myself, don’t become a saboteur, not today . . .
To be cont.