Every now and then when she’s in a very particular mood, she’ll suddenly offer a real glimpse into some of the things she does, day-to-day right now… mention a couple of names… mention meeting a band member or getting ready to hold an interview or hanging out somewhere, rather than saying there are no stories to tell. Such moments of sudden candor about things she did days ago, or weeks ago, and was never willing or excited to talk about remind me of just how much time a summer is, how much is happening without me, and how many things will probably never be shared between us from these two years. For the most part summers are kept very separate from me — it’s her moment, not mine, and the details simply aren’t to be mine in any way.
Sometimes I’m okay with that, but sometimes I feel as though I’m very left-behind, as though what must be an amazing exprience is made up of a million accidental secrets — things that I’ll never hear about, even once the summer is over. They’ll disappear into ostensible non-existence soon, and when I ask weeks or months or years fro now, there really won’t be anything to tell. Only the ghosts of change will remain, weeks and places and people that will always be hers alone, and I won’t even know when they’re hidden behind her smile, or floating in the middle of a moment of silence. There’s nothing in the space of overlap between worlds — everything that’s going on at the moment belongs to the other world that I’m not a part of, and so there’s not much to be said to me that doesn’t require first breaking down that boundary, something that she won’t or can’t do… I suppose some of it could be the introvert thing.
It made the relationship harder for me after one summer, and now there will be two of them between us. She doesn’t mean it in a harmful way. And I know that some of it’s just me needing to learn how to cope with the realities of the modern world — this is not a village, and it never will be. It’s not like detectives’ spouses ever hear much about cases, or like politicians’ significant others share any of the daily negotiations. But at the same time, this is different somehow. She’s seeing a million places I’ve always wanted to go, doing things nearly anyone would be excited to do.