The strength to say goodbye came from the desperate need to say hello again some time in the maybe-but-hopefully-not-so-distant future. Goodbye felt like a strategy. It felt like a plan, to her. To him, it was a point of stress he wanted to forget. To give in rather than have one more source of anxiety to quell. It was all too much.
None of it was easy. Letting go, cutting strings: those are final decisions. Calls put on hold, a welcome back home: those are situations unwritten and still in waiting: potential future tragedies: the ghosts of footsteps falling backwards. But those sweet steps forward, those eventual maybe potential tears of joy: they’d wash away an ocean of those shed for damp-eyed farewells.
That sigh of relief. That warm embrace. That long-awaited gaze. His name. His face. They could make moments explode and decades shrink to not enoughs. They are everything worth waiting for. They are everything.