The view from midnight when your best friend is moving away the next day is you being happy that it's been a good, long day and you still get a few more hours the next day before she runs (or drives) off to live on the islands. Your writing flows together and makes sense and has a purpose.
Because at midnight, when I'm still wired from staring at boxes all day and now I'm staring up at the new, crazy fun tree painting in my living room that we carted around for hours, somehow, you can see how the distance between here and there isn't that far away.
But then, today, when I say good-bye, I remember that I hate good-byes, and yes an island really is far away, and I don't think my writing is going to make as much sense right now.
Right now all I can think about is that my eyes hurt a little bit and I'm going to the store because I don't have any dessert-type food here and that is very wrong. And I think about how I came home and cleaned and threw out some of my own stuff because downsizing is a good thing, and no I don't need plastic Easter eggs and 13 old phone books and how is it that I still cannot find a hammer in this place?
So I read a post by Amy recently about good-byes and immediately felt that ping of sad.
There are many ways to say good-bye. Sometimes there are many words. I thought I was a loud good-bye kind of person like her daughter's best friend.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Sometimes there really isn't anything that needs to be said that hasn't already been said, that won't be said later that day - when you talk again - even if not in plain sight. That is my favorite kind of good-bye, and also the worst kind all together.
It implies a real friendship, one that won't be replaced and one that makes sense, even when lots of other things don't.
I'm thankful for that.
linking up for five minute friday: view