My love



He’s gone missing again, this man that I love, and though our love is challenging, seems to mean something different for him than it does for me, I care deeply and that won’t change. And so I worry. And the tears have been plentiful. And the asking friends if they “sense” that he’s physically safe, which is all I care about. He’s missing from me and his mother and his flatmate. He’s a loner, he’s an independent soul, he couldn’t grasp at first why last week was so worrisome for all involved. And now he’s gone missing again.

Thank you my friends, for all your kind listening and for knowing that hugging me makes me cry harder. Thank you for reasoning with me. Thank you, my Louie, for being my dog and for knowing when I need a little extra attention.

I leave this evening for a ten day trip, with my mother, to Budapest and then on to Paris. This is amazing – been three years in the making – but how do I put aside my worry and stay in the now?  Never been to Budapest – reading a lot about it – and then one piece refers to Romania and I’m sad again. My gone-missing boy’s of Romanian descent. He’s missing and he has no phone at the moment.

Tell me he’s fine. Tell me everything will be okay. Tell me I worry in vain.

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