anotherlongshot (anotherlongshot) wrote,

How you make me feel.

It has only been one weekend and I'm already feeling the pangs of his absence and the longings and wishings that he were here ('here' being a reference to the physical space either next to me or in front of me in, inter alia, an eating and drinking establishment; a mode of public transportation, such as the tram; and a public library). I'm already missing the feel of his hoodie against my face and even the butthurt when he takes me around Amsterdam on his bike, waking up with his arms around me, cuddling on his couch...missing him is an added source of frustration at a time when I'm trying and battling against time to do whatever is necessary to pass an annoying, but necessary, and definitely expensive, test for which my preparation has hitherto been absolutely paltry at best and fucking pathetic at worst. I have to do this. I know that I have to do this. There is absolutely no room for negotiation on this. And yet...and yet, thinking about what I will miss out on - watching more football with him, for instance - makes me so irrationally sad.

In a way, it makes the moments that we do have together even more precious. Without intending to descend into melodrama or theatrics, the fact is, going from seeing each other every other day and every single day on the weekends to every few days and not at all on the weekends is difficult and painful. I'm only doing it because I have to, but it doesn't mean that it's easy for me. It would be easier if we lived in the same city, but I'm already thankful that we live in the same country, even if we are separated by an hour's train ride (plus biking for him and tramming for me).

I'm thankful that he travels two hours and spends 22 euros a day to see me for a few hours in the evenings. I'm thankful that he made the trip yesterday. We watched a boring football match between The Netherlands and Chile (even he said it was boring; I didn't dare to say it until he did) that ended happily, then went out to the sand where he laid down his blue hoodie for us to sit on. We sat with his arms around me and watched the seagulls, those evil, nasty creatures*. He read the gift that I gave him. We took a lot of pictures.

(*Side story: On Sunday, I had a late lunch in Centrum after studying in the library. I got a classic Dutch dish, this fried fish thing that starts with 'k' (forgot how to spell it). I sat in the sun because I was feeling cold, having forgotten my jacket and leaving the house in t-shirt, shorts and sandals. There was a seagull perched on a table in front of me. Being the deprived Singaporean that I am, I started taking pictures of it and neglecting the two pieces of fish that I had left. Out of nowhere, I felt another seagull swoop past my head and down to my table - and it gobbled up one of the pieces of fish on my plate. The seagull that I was taking pictures of quickly followed suit and ate the other piece. I'd forked it, and it spat out the fork after taking what it wanted. I was too stunned to make a sound. I still can't believe those seagulls stole my food.)

We adjourned to a beach bar and sat watching the sunset. I don't know how to describe what it feels like to be with him. Sometimes I think I run out of words because the words that come to mind are inadequate. 'Comfortable' doesn't go far enough; 'happy' is too generic; 'contented' is too mild. Yet, those are the precise things that I feel when he's next to me holding my hand as the dusk paints the sky purple-pink and the sea baby blue; I am comfortable, I am happy, I am contented. Still, this feels unreal sometimes; it feels ethereal, like the rainbow-coloured clouds that formed in the near horizon last night. I was taken in by the beauty of the situation: the unfettered light blue sky, the unobstructed view of the sea...and him. And us.

Tags: love, pictures, the hague, wouter

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