I learned more about what time is this past week. It’s been said before, many times actually, but it takes personal experience for those aphorisms to actually resonate, but the saying, “You can never home again,” is as true as true can be.
Jacob, my ex, who now lives in London, was in town for about a week and it was really nice to see him. It also made me sad, made me clingy, made me ponder certain things, like distance, time, and these other factors that constitute life and its trajectory. Physical distance isn’t as easy to collapse as a transatlantic flight. This person here in my bed can still be elsewhere. He’s not the person that I used to share a bed with. I am not that person either. That place, though Brooklyn also, no longer exists.
He talked about how much he loved London. He looked at his iPad a lot. I kissed him on the neck one night sleeping next to him. He pulled away.
He is my past and it was nice to see him in my present, especially since I haven’t seen him in a long while. It allowed me to match things up, to try to, to fail to be able to, and to realize more distinctly what it is that constitutes my present, what it is I want from it, and what I might want in a future.
New York changes and doesn’t. We ate Mexican food from Haab and watched comedies on Netflix. We went to Metropolitan and had drinks. I was comfortable around him doing not much of anything, which was nice. He flew back to his home, London, last night. I kissed him goodbye and closed the door behind him and said something I couldn’t say him to the door. I stayed in my home, my love, my steady, New York.