Runaway

I’m at work right now, sitting at my desk, pain in my heart, breathing in and out deeply, trying to calm down.

I want to run away with Paul. Go somewhere beautiful. Joyful. Full of noise and sun and laughter. Feel warm ocean water on my skin and the heat of the sun on my back. Run down a beach and chase waves, sip wine on a patio, sit out at night and look up at a sky that looks like velvet sprinkled with diamond dust.

I want to run away right now – from this office, this desk, this work I thought was important. I want someone or something to bargain with. As long as I can have Paul, see him and hear him and touch him every day – what would you like from me? I’d happily give up 30 years to know I had 10 more with him. If that’s not to be, how about me instead? That way I wouldn’t have to think about a life without him.

I want to run away to some place else. And scream. Or curl up. Or punch another Styrofoam box. But there’s nowhere to run. No one to bargain with. And because I’m not rich, I must stay here in my office, behind my desk and do my duty. Even though I’m not with him, I know he’s at his office, breathing, working, laughing, thinking.

It’s time that’s running away. No longer do I wish it would hurry up so the end of the day would come or the weekend would be here. Because it’s still a world with Paul in it. And I want more of that time.

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