the last time i was with him was at the end of March in the Oakland airport.

we had spent the afternoon enjoying each other. fucking and loving. the optimism of the previous week together had become dulled by our impending parting. i had removed my necklace—the joke that i had been wearing for the last ten or more years but had somehow become my totem—and placed it between tissues and tucked it into a card for him to be read later, on the plane. my necklace was the only thing i could give him that truly meant my love.

we stood in the airport clinging to each other. we were both dying over yet another fucking goodbye.