I ready myself because I know you will leave eventually. I don’t usually sit still and do nothing because the demons, they haunt me then. So a couple times, I jump up and suggest we do an activity, but you are content with talking, being with me, just taking it all in. You tell me you like me and I fear you think I am throwing you out, sick of your company, so I apologize, retrace my steps and settle back in to continue talking and being with you.
I sense you feel reluctant to leave but I make no show of holding you back. You are not mine to keep. I see you off. I walk away before you pull out of the parking spot. Not my usual m.o. I usually wave until taillights have disappeared. I climb upstairs and plop in the chair you just vacated. It’s still warm. I debate what to do next. Then I remember!
I call you. Voicemail. I try again and you pick up. You left your left overs I say. You are turning around. I have it waiting for you when you pull into the driveway. I hand it through the window and say for a second time, drive safe! I start to walk away. You call after me asking if I’m okay. I shrug my shoulders and open my hands. I half turn and reassure you I will be okay. I have to be. What else, have I got?
You ask what I always wish someone would ask me but they never do. “Do you want me to stay?” I say no before I process that someone has asked me this question for the first time. I say no then I plaster it with sarcasm: “I’ll probably be sick of you in about an hour.” You say something about me speaking the truth. I turn away before you can see the tears. See that I do want you to stay but I am scared you will have to leave eventually so I cut my losses and let you leave then.
I tsk myself as I return upstairs, but even as I do, I think: you aren’t mine to keep. You would eventually have to go home. Always being left makes it easy to build a thick skin, and my wit laced with sarcasm smooths it just so. No one can pick out the scab hiding beneath. The scab over the place of the original leaving.
Musings of An African Woman 
This is my favorite blog entry. I hope she comes back, and sees you… and your tears. I have a feeling she will…
I just realized that some of your comments were still pending. 5 months ago is short in theory but we’ve come such a long way it feels much longer and more herstoried. She came back and saw my tears and kept coming back. I’m a lucky woman!
This resonates deep within me. How easy it is for people to just leave. I am not looking to get attached anymore. But God made it just so, it is our nature. And theirs to leave.