A Small Companion

I remember the time you went to New Zealand. I was twelve then. I remember it well because you didn't come to church those two Sundays. Till then, it never occurred to me how much seeing you meant to me. I know that you didn't have feelings for me, or even give me a second glance, but it was such a joy to be able to see you, even if it was for those few precious seconds. Though it sounds almost heretical, seeing you sort of gave me strength to last through the week ahead. I would endure the next six days, till I saw you again.
So it was no wonder those two weeks seemed the longest of my life. The initial shock of your disappearance was slowly overcome by a dull ache and a feeling of loss. I didn't know how to handle not being able to sneak in my weekly furtive glances. Then came the knowledge that my agony would last not one week but two. TWO WHOLE weeks. That almost killed me. The pain was almost too much for my twelve year old heart to take.
Years later, after we got together, your family embarked on another vacation. You gave me the house keys so that I could feed Hammy (the house hamster) every day. It had been a long time, but the same feelings came back, this time stronger. I stayed over at your house some nights, looking at the sea. We had so many night time chats at that window, often gazing at the stars and watching the ocassional plane glide by. Hammy was the recipient of my nighttime rants of how I missed having you around. He would have made a pretty good therapist where he still around today. He listened.
Thank you for calling a few moments ago. Not talking to you last night made me miss you. You should have seen the smile I had on my face when my sister said the call was for me. Hearing your voice I pressed my ear closer to the earpiece, and I was almost sure I was close enough to smell your hair. I'll be back for summer. I can hardly wait.

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