After our two weeks of blissful awakening, upon my return to work, M went to France for a week for his mother's wedding, and we spoke every night. He texted me a poem one evening when we'd been discussing how torturous it was being apart so soon. He invited me to the wedding, and I refused, after initial deliberation - I was so touched that he'd told his whole family about me, and wanted me there at his mum's wedding, and was aching to see him, but I was still very aware that a month ago he was to have been there with another. And I just knew I couldn't handle being so obviously the replacement. Being at such a special, beautiful occasion and watching him look at me in that way he sometimes does, with great affection and gentle desire and passion, the look that makes me feel like the most beautiful girl in the room through his eyes; and getting a quick pain to the chest and an image flash into my eyes of him looking at her that way.
He does understand that, and why I'm going to feel like that every now and then, and I've told him before obviously we've all got our pasts, and I hate the idea of you having ever been with another girl, and in equally as primally immature a way I'm sure you hate the idea of me having ever been with another man; but the difference is that my past is in the past. Yours was last month. You can forgive me finding it hard to ignore that.
Having said that, it took all the sense and control within me to not jump on a train to France and be with him. With M who might not have been mine in March, but just might be mine in April.
So, I shall see her in three days
And just one night, but nights are short,
Then two long hours, and that is morn.
See how I come, unchanged, unworn!
Feel, where my life broke off from thine,
How fresh the splinters keep and fine,---
Only a touch and we combine!
Too long, this time of year, the days!
But nights, at least the nights are short.
As night shows where ger one moon is,
A hand`s-breadth of pure light and bliss,
So life`s night gives my lady birth
And my eyes hold her! What is worth
The rest of heaven, the rest of earth?
O loaded curls, release your store
Of warmth and scent, as once before
The tingling hair did, lights and darks
Outbreaking into fairy sparks,
When under curl and curl I pried
After the warmth and scent inside,
Thro` lights and darks how manifold---
The dark inspired, the light controlled
As early Art embrowns the gold.
What great fear, should one say, ``Three days
``That change the world might change as well
``Your fortune; and if joy delays,
``Be happy that no worse befell!``
What small fear, if another says,
``Three days and one short night beside
``May throw no shadow on your ways;
``But years must teem with change untried,
``With chance not easily defied,
``With an end somewhere undescried.``
No fear!---or if a fear be born
This minute, it dies out in scorn.
Fear? I shall see her in three days
And one night, now the nights are short,
Then just two hours, and that is morn.
