Oh, that pesky ocean

I'm leaving the country and after a couple of playful text messages from the London Boy, I decide to take matters in my own hands in the form of an ultimatum: if you want to see me, set a date. Ten minutes later, he texts, "Monday?"

I think I was beyond nervous and excited to see him. It had been a whole season since we've seen each other. We meet in the city centre and he is looking so much like the handsome boy I could never keep my eyes off of. I easily fall into his embrace as we greet each other in the middle of a busy downtown walkway. "You look beautiful," he says. I snap my phone closed and we're off.

We walk to the restaurant, an understated place on Queen's St. On the way, we're chatting and catching up, and the whole time I'm beaming, soaking in every word, every nuance, every little bit of him. As we wait to be seated he opens his arms to me. We hug like nothing else exists in the world, everything melts away except us in this moment... until the hostess clears her throat and we turn to be shown to our table.

As we share a strainer of beans, he tells me of his life at home, his hopes, his accomplishments. I'm so proud of him. Of who he is becoming. I stare across the table and with a settled resolve realize that this handsome boy is everything I want, but something I still can't have.

He treats, and he proposes we do it again, when I get home because "you are coming back aren't you?" We part at the subway with a kiss on the cheek and a promise for an e-mail to be printed and read "on the plane, only."

Later when I get his text message, I know that even though an ocean will be between us once again, it can't keep us apart forever.