There is a man. He exists under palm trees of light, along the shores of the Pacific Ocean, as if in a dream. He lives thousands, perhaps trillions, of miles away from me.
Hawaii. It may as well be Alaska, or Guatemala, for that matter.
"I'll see you later". Those were the last words he said to me in person. I stood on the stoop of the homeless shelter, our baby son in my arms, watching as he got into the taxi and left. I kept waiting for it to stop, to turn around, for him to rush back out, in a fit of tears, or some kind of emotion... to say he was wrong, that he loved me, that he wasn't leaving.
"I'll see you later".
Now, it is five months later. Much later. And I've still not seen him. I don't know if I ever will. As the days grow further, and time spreads us thin, I slowly collect the pieces of my shattered self, and I move on. I have to be a good mother to my son, and my newly born daughter. I have to focus on them.