what a weekend. days on the terrace sunbathing, gossiping, playing with the puppy. nights staying out until dawn, saying goodbye to two close friends.
it's weird when somebody leaves. it's a very intense moment of sadness: the tense moments leading up to The Moment, the hugs, the ceremonial bequests of personal belongings.
(i made out pretty well from these two -- a tennis racket, a printer, a george forman grill, a shawl, a sweatshirt, a book. you might think, as somebody callously observed, i was circling like a vulture, just waiting to pick over the remains. but no! i cried real tears!)
anyway, what i find even weirder than the sadness is the way things return to normal mere moments later. we all shift and readjust and of course miss the person who has left, but shake off the sadness rather quickly. phone calls are replaced by emails. afternoon coffees in madrid are replaced by happy hour drinks in new york.
to live this kind of life, to move around, to find homes in many places or none at all, to just as often be the one saying goodbye as the one being said goodbye to requires this level of resilience. it necessitates a sort of friendship that isn't disturbed by location, or months without contact. it leaves a trail of friends across continents each punctuated by various goodbyes and hellos.
but i did cry, for the first time in probably six months.
moments later, i felt better.
photo by paul