Dear Addis

Addis dear,

These days, we dare to fall into each other and in love despite our knowledge that our time together will be brief, predefined and premeasured. Our reunions are seldom born on a whim or from careless abandon. Not for an un-grim reason or no reason at all, anyway. We have grown to appreciate this, the slice of time carefully rationed and appointed, few and far between, and that we may not meet whenever, wherever, however and whyever we please. In fact, I think we have embraced the uncommonness of our reunions and the premeditation they require, and much prefer it this way.

This is not in the same way one finds gratitude for not having something they cannot have anyway, or because of logistics; you are only 7,000 miles and a day away, and not entirely a bargain.

It’s because impromptu or too-frequent reunions would be too tolling on our hearts.

It is a matter of the immaterial, of the heart, the rise and fall it endures each time. We begin on a lovely high even before we begin, with excitement and anticipation. Once we reunite, with time in the bank, we truly relish and live in it, painting the town red in a manner that is only possible when one understands the very impermanence and perfection of the present time. Of course, it is not always perfect, per se. Sometimes enidebaberalen; we tire of each other and grow grumpy like the long-separated and recently reunited old couple that we are, trying to readjust to each other’s sudden and constant presence.

When our bank runs dry, and because we can’t have the cake and eat it too, we conclude our time half-grudgingly, giving in to an end we’d known about all along. The most tolling on the heart is the uncertainty with which we part. Uncertainty of the when and if of the next time, whether you and I will be the same or different, and whether the difference will be for better or worse.

This is why, recently, I’ve reduced you to a mere stopover. I could not negotiate a place between all and nothing and chose the latter, despite my kirrita–a sense of dissonance that hangs on the heart–for passing up a perfectly good chance at a reunion. I’ll remain within the confines of Bole International, safe from an inevitable goodbye. If you do find out about my stopover, and cowardly omission, I hope you understand.

Forever yours,

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