The hardest part about being away is the last trip home before another lengthy and sad trip for work. You’re haunted with questions of what might have not been said, or what might not have been done. It’s at this time where you regret that you didn’t hold him enough times or kiss him enough or told him how much you loved him at those times you could have. You go back to every laugh. You go back to every conversation. You go back to every hug. You go back to every touch. You go back to every kiss. You go back to everything, and wish that you could do it all over again, twice as much. Even thrice as much. You curse the day for having only 24 hours, the weekend for having only two days. You ask yourself over and over if you could have done better, better than the best. You look back at your planned surprises, moments you’ve replayed over and over again in your head that have never seen fruition. You think back to those accidental, serendipitous moments you never expected to happen but left you wanting more and more and more time with the one you love because a weekend never really is enough. Time is such a shitty concept, and thinking too much about it, of how you can make it worthwhile is ironic as it robs you of those much needed time. At the end of the day, however, nothing matters more than the thought that you were with the one you love most, and that you were home. ❤

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