The obvious "Yes!" leaps to my lips, but it only hovers there, never escaping, mired down in complication.
Your eyes turn from excitement to confusion, as you await an answer you thought was easy. I wish I could give you that answer, it would make travel much easier. Or at least that I could explain it to you, this mixture of joy and loss.
But when I'm in transit, I am the only one who can see both my coming and my leaving. I see the relationships, experiences, laughter, tears, growth - all of it stretched out in my wake.
You see only me, in front of you.
So I smile, say "It's good to see you!", while holding my journey in my open palms.
You won't ever see it like I do, you can't get behind my eyes. But slowly, gradually, you will understand pieces. You will hear it in my stories, see it in my walk, feel it when you hug me.
Only I can hold my journey, but I will do my best to share what I can.
Then some day, when you step off the bus, or boat, or plane, I will step forward to hug you and feel the journey in your bones. I promise to give you time. I promise to ask and to listen. I promise to sit side by side in silence when the words fail you, because I can't get behind your eyes.
Yes, we will sit together and hold our journeys, sharing in the parts that overlap and intertwine, and let them pull us past the distance behind our eyes.
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