Time is a strange thing. Sometimes it moves too slow. Sometimes it moves too fast. There’s never enough time, and then there’s too much time.
The majority of April crawled by slower than a snail. I thought the month would never end. Certain decisions took forever. Waiting to hear about this or that was maddening. What was taking so long? Would they ever call? Why did we have to wait???
The last week in April sped by. On Monday we learned we had an address. I blinked and it was Thursday. How did that happen?
From this moment, there’s a month until the move. That’s too long, too much time. The waiting is killing me.
And then, there’s not enough time.
Daddy and I discuss our futures as if there’s no end. We joke about kids in high school (the youngest is only 4). We tease about getting around with canes and walkers. No hesitation. The idea that we will be together until we’re old and gray is assumed. Daddy and I aren’t ready to talk about the formality of our relationship and what it will look like with collars or rings or both. It’s not time for that discussion yet. Knowing that we’ll be together for as long as we can is something that we feel deep in our bones, though.
And then, I think about our ages – his 52 to my 34 – and I worry there isn’t enough time. 30 or 40 years is barely a blip in the grand scheme of things, and it doesn’t feel like enough. I’m envious of the years that came before I met him. I want that time back. I want those years, too. I don’t want to blink and realize 20 years have passed by. I want to savor every second, every moment. I don’t want to waste a moment.
Maybe it’s the depth of my emotions for him, maybe it’s the time we’ve spent apart, maybe it’s a combination – but I don’t want to ever take a day for granted. I want to spend as much time with him as I can. That thought terrifies me. I remember my marriage. I remember desperately needing space and wanting alone time more than I wanted sleep. I assumed that was part of my personality. Maybe it had more to do with a lousy marriage. Will wanting time to myself when Daddy and I are together be an indication of a problem? Will it simply be a normal part of two people in a relationship? I don’t know.
I know time is my friend and my enemy. Every day that passes brings us closer to being together. I also know that every moment is one less that we’ll have together. I’m a greedy little girl. I want as much time as I can get. I want it all. I want forever.