sorry isn’t the hardest word, it’s goodbye.

Sat in another departure lounge, staring listlessly at my reflection, feeling completely numb.
Perhaps not completely numb, I’ve got a bottle of coke that keeps turning to fizz in my mouth as I take tiny sip, after tiny sip.
The bubbles keep tickling my nose.
I’m not normally one for fizzy drinks, but it seemed like a coke kind of night.

I’ve not cried yet.
Perhaps because I don’t have time to be sad, not just yet.
Perhaps because I know I’m coming back and I am excited about a different country, a different adventure.
Perhaps because I’ve not really thought about the fact I’m not going to see Zac for over a month.

My flight is delayed.
Another sip that turns in to fizz.
My phone buzzes.
It’s Zac: Mum’s driving home, can text if you like? xx

I keep playing over the moment we said goodbye in my head, wiping the tears away from Zac’s cheeks and telling him all the things he’s been telling me for the past few weeks:
It’s not forever, I’ll be fine, I’ve got that interview, and I can find somewhere to live, worst case scenario, I can AirBnB it for a few weeks until I’m settled and you’re going to be too busy with work to even notice I’m gone.”
I want to be sad, but I’m too busy for emotions right now.
I think that’s it, or too tired.

I already miss the way it feels to hug him.
How my face gets squashed into his chest, I have to turn my head so I can breathe.
I miss him complaining we didn’t have enough kisses the day before so today he’s going to give me 100 kisses to make up for it, then realising how unrealistic that is and pecking at my face like an amorous seagull.

My phone buzzes again.
I’ve decided I’m coming to see you in March.
March. That’s only 8 weeks away from now. That’s entirely doable.
My stomach flips and I realise I’m spending too long thinking about what’s going to happen when I get to Auckland and try to push it out of my mind before I stage a protest and just sit in the departure lounge for the next 4 months. Technically I’ve left Australia here, I could get a job, I could clean the toilets and sleep in the first class lounge. It’d be like that film, The Greatest Store in the World, only airport.
I realise I’m being ridiculous.

It’s not a nice feeling knowing you’re leaving somewhere and you can’t come back. Not that you won’t, but can’t.
There’s finally an announcement about my flight.
Passport, ticket, check, check.
Time to go.


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