When i lived in Brussels, i’d call my boyfriend after my classes. the sun would be going down and i’d call him and he’d just be waking up. he lived nine time zones away, back home. i’d watch the sun go down and listen to his raspy voice. “is the sun up?” i’d always ask.
yeah. and it amazed me that we were looking up at the same sun. the same sun looking vastly different to the both of us. that profound thought made me feel not so far away. looking at the sun, and knowing he was doing the same, made me feel closer to him. we couldn’t look at each other, but at least we could both look at the same exact thing. i’d tell him, “good morning” i brought you the sun today.
everyday, the sun left me and went to him, and the hopeless romantic in me saw the symbolism that perhaps existed only in my head. The end of my day, the beginning of his. I prayed that the sun would take all my love and wake him up with it. I wished all my love at the sun, hoping that the sunlight might not just bring him warmth but love, joy and everything happy. In those days, I missed him very much.
And that’s how it goes for the first year and a half. I still love him very much, but that passion is gone. The passion that makes me run a mile just to hear his voice on the phone. Passion that makes you lose sleep, and eat less. Passion that changes your wants into what the both of you need as a couple. That goes away. And eventually your individual wants return. If you’re lucky, you end up best friends and find that you both still want the same things and need each other.
