there is a pond behind the hotel where we sit and watch the monkeys play and snap the last of a thousand photos. a clock beats loud and long in the background and at 3:50 we surrender and shuffle back to the lobby.
in boston it was him. this time it’s me. somehow the one being left always takes it harder.
the shuttle driver beckons to me. he’ll let me ride into the airport and bring me back to the hotel. I thank him and shake my head. I have to get back to my village before dark.
kris waves out the window and I water blink water blink back and then hes gone and its over. just like that.
I stand on the sidewalk with the heat and the air and the space and I feel like a very small stain on a large dark planet. irrelevant and obvious.
the shuttle has been out of site for several seconds when the concierge approaches. he’s witnessed the good-bye scene and makes an effort to console me with gentle questions and polite conversation. after a minute the porter joins and they make me laugh and I start breathing normal again. we three stand there on the sidewalk and I marvel at this humane and gregarious gesture. and I remember this country and I remember this people and I fall in love all over again.
distance and proximity have such power on affection. the moment of remembering can nourish well.