it was almost 10pm and the rain came drizzling down. at the horizon there was still a soft glow, a remnant of the sunny day we had. i made a detour to the club on my way home, and contemplated the option of looking for her, or seeing her. standing just outside the door, rain still falling lightly on my shoulders, i heard the steady beat of the music playing inside. it echoed and pounded inside my head. you or her: it was an easy choice.

i went back on the road; the rain had mostly stopped. i chased after the trail of the sunset, thinking that if i couldn't beat light, maybe i could at least try to beat time. i pumped the pedals hard up the hill. when i made the mental note of making self-care plans for the rest of the night back at the crisis centre, it crossed my mind that maybe i could try to strike up a conversation with her, connect, re-connect or something. but then i figured the last thing i wanted to do was to be around her. i just wanted to be home -- where you were.

it wasn't late yet -- not for city motorists -- but the backstreets were quiet. my shadow was like a cheeky child teasing her parent, now racing ahead, now lagging just a bit behind, wanting to assert her independence but never completely breaking free. with each street-lamp i passed there was only a split of a second when i was with myself. always just a little ahead, or a little behind.

you came into my room the other night and asked me if i really didn't believe that there was "the one" for me somewhere out there. i knew you overheard my conversation on the phone, but i didn't know it bothered you that way. you almost sounded disappointed, or sad somehow, as if you discovered yet another fact about me that you didn't know, something that changed somewhere along the way and you weren't paying enough attention to notice.

see, i tried explaining this to you -- i just don't expect, or trust, anyone to stick around anymore. the only person who i feel i can count on, actually, is you. and that's more than i could ask for.

but even our days together are numbered. sometimes i don't know what to do. i'm worried that i will put it aside, then have it suddenly catch up to me, or that i will start worrying about not having you before you're even gone. i try to be in the present most of the time, but more often now i catch myself counting how many more present moments we will have.

so i came home to you, even though you weren't actually home yet. when i stood there outside the club, my thoughts crowding up in my head and turning into jumbled noise, i thought of you. i knew you would be able to calm me somehow, even just being in your presence in the form of hand-written notes still taped to my door, study notes and opened text on the table, or left-over cooking in the fridge.