Why I can’t call him

So my beautiful friend Marky Poos is away.

He’s traveling the world one brave step at a time and I am so proud of him and his journey.

He’s been away for over two years now.

That’s a very long time.

He’s telephoned. Quite a few times. I could have spoken to him. But I have always found excuses. I don’t want to hear his voice. I’m scared I couldn’t cope hearing it.

I miss him so much. It might make me miss him more. It’s more bearable if he’s unreachable.

Truth is I do miss Mark, terribly, but that’s not the only reason I am avoiding speaking to him.

It’s like I have this compartment in my heart for all of the people who I gravely miss. I’ve placed Mark in there, along with my Dad.

I think that’s why I can’t speak to Mark. I’ll open the box. I can’t speak to everyone in there. It’s just best I don’t open it.

I don’t want to be reminded that Mark is in the world somewhere and my Dad is not.

If I don’t speak to Mark I can keep on pretending that my Dad has found his way to a remote part of the world too, having one awesome adventure as well.

But deep down I know the truth.

I’m going to struggle when Mark comes home, for purely selfish reasons. I will be beyond happy to see him and hug him and hear his voice and touch his face but I know I’m going to ball.

I’ve got a huge lump in my throat just thinking about it.

I know it’s something I need to do, and I am pleased Mark will be there to help me through it.

He’s great, my friend Mark.

Speak soon Poos ❀

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