As he leaves me to sleep alone, at 12.30am (“Korean culture!”), he holds his comically oversized phone screen up to my bedroom window. With a little jolt in my chest I read the white text on a blue background: “I love you”.
“My auntie says you’ll leave and break my heart.”
It’s a sentence I’ve heard in slightly different versions throughout the years.
“My mother says/my friends keep telling me-… that you’ll break my heart/that you don’t care.”
The transient nature of traveling life is both selfish and self-harming. Ambition slowly gnaws away at connections, affections. Oh, distance. You begin to forget the texture of their hands, the look on their faces just before they smile. Typed ‘x’s and emoticons are a weak echo of the wrapping comfort of being enveloped within somebody’s arms.
For me, love really is the small. “I love you” doesn’t terrify me, because I love so, so wholeheartedly and expansively. I still love ‘past loves’. And each day I stumble into the love of new people, in the street, of those who don’t hold back their smiles. It’s crushing, often unreciprocated, beautiful, and quietly elating.
What’s this post been about? I don’t really know either.