Yesterday Pete said isn’t Sara coming home soon, or next month, and I said (twice) not if she’s smart. Which made him ask if I was coming home. Not in January, I laughed, avoiding. No, he said, but I mean this summer.
Well. In June.
But…for good?
What?
Rachel.
I just haven’t figured out how all the things I love fit together yet, I explained finally. That made it make sense to him, but not to me. To me it’s a ranked scale, a list 1-10, of what I love most, and I don’t know where he rates. I do love him, but I’ll exist without him. Whereas if I have to go back to St Louis, I don’t know if I’ll be okay. Just the thought is depressing. What is there? Even with that sweet boy to shelter me, it’s not enough. That city is suffocating, in memory at least. But you liked it in October, protested Pete. Again, I couldn’t quite explain. I liked it because I knew it couldn’t last. Because I knew I was going back to New York so soon.
For as long as I've been here, Emily's been talking about leaving, maybe in a year-ish; how, between Chris and me, she can hand over the reigns and move on. It's a good reminder of impermanence.
I don't know what's going to happen. I'm here now. Growth is the important thing.
Right?
