Thirteen hours in the future

By the time you read this, I will be gone. Already drifting off to sleep no doubt, my day done here, in the future.

My sunset, your dawn. Missing you back in the future.

My sunset, your dawn. Missing you back in the future.

As you open one eye and try to stifle the insistent alarm sliding down into the duvet cocoon, I will be finishing reading my bedtime story, and ready to surrender to sleep.

I’m here and you are there. I’ve already lived this day.

The one you are waking up to.

I’ve already struggled through a day’s worth of raising kids – chiding the girls as they smear the kitchen counter with buttered knives after making school lunches, and dragging the Uni student out of bed (at 11am!)

I’ve already slipped my trainers on in the fragile dawn dark and pounded the pavement down past the Marina and over the bridge to the beach where I greeted your future day’s sun.

It was fine, again today.

The weather here is a gift I give thanks for every day. Twice some days when I remember the snow and ice you’re waking up to there in England. In the little house with the nude oak tree outside the bedroom window where the squirrels played, bounding from branch to branch. Where the morning smelt of coal and damp sod.

I’ve already answered calls, and worked and  looked for work and spoken to oh, so many people. I’ve laughed and cried and grumped and worried – a lot can happen in a day, you know. I’ve already heard the news – the Pope resigned, who knew he could?

As you worshipped the shower god I was  preparing dinner and doing the dishes and watching Campbell Live and the News – which was surprisingly optimistic. Growth is good, the dollar’s up against the pound and businesses are feeling confident here in the future in  New Zealand.

We are basking contently in our golden summer.

You are shivering in the winter of your discontent.

You scrape the cold off your car windscreen.

I climb into bed.

You side behind the steering wheel.

I pick up my phone to check…

No messages.

I haven’t talked to you for 24 hours now. For you, it was just last night.

But you forget, I am thirteen hours ahead and a great deal has already happened in my awake world. And it’s hard feeling so very far from you – so disconnected –  when even the sky outside our separate windows is a different colour, a different hue – mine features stars, yours an anaemic sun.

How much longer till you get here, so we can begin living together again?

How much longer till you join me here, thirteen hours ahead?

How much longer till you come back to the future?

69 Thoughts on “Thirteen hours in the future

  1. uniquenique01 on February 12, 2013 at 3:38 am said:

    Hard living on two different continents – two different time zones – I hope that this is remedied real soon.

    • vegemitevix on February 12, 2013 at 10:42 pm said:

      Really hard. It’s difficult even keeping in contact when my home time is his work time etc. It’s made me think a great deal about military families, and wonder how they manage.

  2. That’s such a hard one for you guys. Hope it all works out soon :)

  3. Such a difficult situation, hope you can sort it out soon.x

  4. This reminds me of how hard it was for my ex and I and we were only 8 hours apart. It is so very difficult to love someone so much and be so far from them. I hope you are together again soon

  5. MidlifeSinglemum on February 12, 2013 at 7:04 pm said:

    LOL – thought you were talking to me (well all readers generally) until the last bit. So I read it again. It’s a beautiful post both ways. I am only 11 hours behind you and as I type this at 9pm you are starting tomorrow. have a great day. xxx

    • vegemitevix on February 12, 2013 at 11:25 pm said:

      Thank you hun. Yes I did write it for one particular person, but it does also apply to all my friends around the world. It does feel odd that I’m awake whilst you’re sleeping.

  6. Life of an Expat Parent on February 23, 2013 at 7:43 pm said:

    Beautifully written, as always. Understand how hard it must be. Hugs to you.

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