Sometime, While He Was at War…

As everyone is aware, I have a friend. He’s in Ukraine. He’s been there since February.

He is the epitome of beautiful.

When I tell you he is beautiful, I don’t think you’re fully understanding what I’m saying. The man is a hero, he’s uplifting, he’s smart, he’s funny, sometimes a pain in the ass, but always exactly what I hoped the heavens would open up and send me one day.

And then they did.

Except he’s damaged, broken he thinks. And much like Warsan Shire, all he “knows is war, and running and running”. And I can’t reach him in there. In those places that he has. In those recesses that he has.

God, how I want to.

I know he’s coming home. I started to panic a few days ago, because if he looks me in my face one time, he’ll know. He’ll know exactly what I feel.

Sometime in between him leaving and him throwing his version of a tantrum when I accepted the date with the fighter, and yesterday when he said it’s nearly time, I think I let myself do it.

I think I let myself get into my own head and start believing all of the things I pretend are real late at night.

I think I let myself fall in love with who he is. The man he is. The things he stands for and what he’s about. His strength, and desire to help people. To be bigger than one man could or should be. The honest to God, really, he seriously is, superhero.

I’m a complete idiot. If you thought emotionally unavailable was a thing. Pssssh. This one here though. He is about as available as baby formula.

Yet, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. When I tell you, anything. I would literally give him anything. Do anything. And I’m aware of how desperate, of how absolutely sad that reality is.

Meh. Sometimes sad is relative.

So, if you see me panicking in the near future, know it’s because I’m trying to hide everything under the guise of nothing. I’m trying to lie to myself. This should go well. I’m sure it will. I write an advice column because my face gives away how I feel. Anyone who reads me could tell you. Everyone knows everything I’m feeling, always.

I think that I should let this sit, unstoked, until the fire dies out. The act of blowing on the embers could create an inferno, and what would I do with one of those? Nothing. Because he would never allow one to consume him, and that means that I shouldn’t either.

But if a sudden gust were to blow in unexpectedly…

I know I would be engulfed in the flames.

I know that it would burn me alive.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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