Two More Hours

Tonight is your leaving party at your place. The boxes are assembled, everything is packed, tomorrow you’re gone - a new country halfway around the world, a new life, all the culmination of a decision already made months and months ago.

He's one of your closest friends, and he’s been here all evening, in the way he always is: quietly making sure everything's okay without making a big thing of it.

The party is loud and full and distracting, but every time you look across the room, he's already looking back, with a smile and an expression that’s telling you more than a thousand words ever could.

He's not going to ask you to stay. That's the thing about him. He never makes it about him. And somehow that's the hardest part to let go.