It's been two weeks since I boarded a flight from Budapest back to Paris. In these two weeks, I have talked to the Hungarian all of two times (maybe three). To be fair, I haven't attempted much more than that. When I see him online, I know full well that he is sitting at his dining table desk, brow furrowed, guzzling green tea, typing up a Roma integration policy paper or working on the blog for his political campaign. Mr. Candidate, I call him.
Do I wish that he think of me as much as I think of him? Of course. That he drop what he's doing and give me his full attention? Obviously. Yet, admittedly, part of what makes him so attractive is his intelligence, his determination, his need to constantly challenge himself.
He was still up at 2:00 am his time last night. I know he likes to get to bed around midnight, and so I sent him a "you shall overcome!" message. The phrase is a little inside joke of ours - one that I said during some crisis that stuck.
This morning I woke up to a smiley face from him. For now, that's all I need.
2 comments:
you're thinking of him every moment, so why should he be thinking of you, right? ah, the mind of a woman. i know it well.
i think it's a matter of realizing what's feasible right now, you know? he is an ocean away, dealing with this unbelievable thing, and i'm not going to sit and hold a candle for him. i'll continue to live my life. if we're supposed to work out, i'd like to hope a couple of months won't kill it.
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