The day I left

Want to post every day for the next 2 weeks in london, but didn’t get around to writing anything. I miss the bay. This was a draft I wrote when I was forced to leave.

You know, I could extend my flight again.

I wasn’t planning any of this. I wasn’t planning to be greeted by banners, or to effortlessly navigate SF social life, or love it here so much I seriously consider leaving behind everything. I wasn’t planning to fall for this city.

And I certainly wasn’t planning to fall for you.

And now I’m really screwed. Really really screwed. A city I can leave, but you…

The reason these weeks worked is the reason I have to go. I can’t go back to old patterns. I’m my own person, I think you like that about me.

You’re here. Please don’t forget your keys or wallet.

It’s for the better, or whatever. Celeste 2027 must go on and all that.

The world-renowned University Of Ghent has been lighting up my email. “MATS is not a valid reason to miss mandatory lectures“. Fuck you. I’m not doing another semester after this. I refuse. You europeans will tremble before my newly acclimatized 997 worker bee zeal.

But if the world ends and I spent my only sliver of meaningful time left on this worthless piece of paper I’m gonna be so pissed off. But I suppose I have to hedge for long timelines. Regardless, it feels wise to have some distance, for a while.

Back to discussions about the AI bubble, the land where no one pays for claude subscriptions. “home”.

God I will miss your smile, I will miss the adorable contorting of your face after constructing a sentence with the somehow perfect amount of ragebait. The way you call me out when I’m interrupting, that you want to finish something, because you know I will listen.

Us larping like we are both more BPD than we actually are. “sorry sorry sorry”.

“please don’t hate me”

Maybe you have also just been looking for another weirdo, all this time.

TRAVEL OK

Despite it all, the doubt lingers. I have this hunch that this is all just a fever dream, and that some divine intervention is surely on its way to make this fail. That my love won’t last, or you’ll lose interest. It all went so fast. We knew all this and did it anyway. God it felt so good to just let go for a little while.

I feel like myself around you.

I worry I stressed you out too much. It’s important you don’t forget to reflect. You’re a good soul. You care. You don’t need to hear this from me. I never intended to make you feel bad…

I will miss staring into your eyes and both thinking it.

Please don’t make me le-

This is the yellow line to: San Francisco Airport

I can extend. I can extend.

Just one more night with you in my arms, just one more goodbye. Can I please wake up next to you tomorrow? These last 2 weeks have been nothing but worry. I never worry. It’s kinda my thing. All my thousand newfound worries converge to this. There’s only this. I’m gonna miss you so much. Please.

I can stay. I can find a way.

“I’ll call you”. Calling is the inverse of what I’ve savored this month. I loved not saying anything, interrupted with occasional random comments, cuddles, chats, working together.

Calling’s forced artificiality could never compare.

What’s the point if you’re 9 hours behind. What’s the point when you’re only in my screen. For this stupid degree? When it all may be pointless in 2 years. God you feel so good in my arms. Can’t I just keep you a little while longer?

Please don’t fucking do thi - I haven’t even said it.

Well no, I have, of course I did, I said it awfully soon actually, I sometimes worry I said it way too soon. But all I want now is to be able to say it again. Tomorrow. Plea-

The doors are closing, please stand clear of the doors

I love you.