“Distance makes the heart grow fonder.”
“Distant bodies make for distant hearts.”
Two sayings; two cultures; two truths—neither the whole. I sat on the floor of the rattling train car, leaning against my pack. It was softer than the rattling metal wall, and less likely to give me a concussion.
In one of my hands I held open my wallet, staring at the edge of the small picture that I kept within it. I couldn’t make out much of it from where it peeked out at me. Smooth hair, with a few errant strands that seemed nonetheless right where they should be. The tip of an ear poked out from behind. I swallowed, my other hand poised to remove it and reveal it to the open air. It twitched, then lowered. I snapped the wallet closed, winced, and then placed it much more gently back into one of my sturdy trouser pockets.
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I let out a held breath and closed my eyes, rubbing them. My heart ached and hung heavily in my chest. It was similar to another feeling I’d had after I’d very first been… encouraged… to join the organization. I remembered well that heavy feeling settling on my chest as I lay still yet restless in my bunk at headquarters, thinking of a home and family left behind. That pain had faded.
This one never quite did. Perhaps it never would. My home, my family—they lived in my heart. Wherever I went, I took them with me. If I needed them, my heart would remind me that they were there.
But she had not taken up residence in my heart—rather, it seemed, she had taken a piece of it and replaced it with a piece of her own. I felt the absence of something that had been a part of me for my whole life… and didn’t really know what to do with this new thing I had received in its stead. It was shaped perfectly, but it didn’t quite fit in. It was kind and warm and it filled me with hope. But it was quiet and distant, and I was filled at the same time with longing.
The train car rattled on, seeming to carry me ever further from her. Would I ever be carried back?