Let me explain the process:
You feel this insurmountable happiness in your heart.
You rest your eyes and smile with peace, knowing that they are waiting for you.
The flight, the walk through the terminals, the faces of the other passengers, you radiate euphoria.
And when you see them, your heart literally bursts into crackles of joy, upon joy, and joy.
And every minute is just comfortable, weightless, eternal
It’s just the feeling of home
It’s hugs that give you light
It’s conversations that leave you in head-shaking smirking aw
Affection for you as you are.
And that continues cozy and endless for two weeks, maybe three, if you’re lucky.
Then as if abruptly, as if all those days of heat and rest that were passing so slowly, suddenly end in a heartbeat. You fly back. Miles and miles away.
Catch a morning flight, thinking you need to land at a decent time. Get back to real life at a decent hour.
And as soon as you’re on that plane, you’re alone again. Exactly as you were before the trip. Well this time you have more baggage, you’re carrying an extra weight of loss. A mirage of happy days that never seemed to have occurred.
Back at your house, day after day, all you feel is empty.
Lost and trodden and shivering.
Going about your life, so far away from the warmth and ease.
Trying to rid yourself of the glow that softened your sharp edges.
Gradually you become numb, teaching your brain to accept the circumstance.
You try to cut down on the phone calls, distract yourself, do the things you never had time to do. Well you never do them. But you do build distance.
And you start to acclimate, creating a wall to hide the loss inside of you.
Until six months later, beneath the wall, you start to bleed pain. You need a trip back home again to stop the darkness. The wallowing loneliness. And then, the process starts anew.