mark it zero

It's done. The immigration application is done. 

Not sure it's cause for any kind of celebration. (I hear congratulations are in order? Yeah, the process is on.) There doesn't seem to be anything too joyous about knowing that the next year of your life is going to be one long, blind countdown. Like watching an hourglass that someone can flip around at any second. Pay too close attention and you're bound to lose your bearings. Bound to be disappointed.

I want to lose myself in myself but I can't. Without her here life becomes nothing but a simple game of numbers. Of hours, days, weeks and months. Of dollars and cents. Of kilometres, calories, pages read and documentaries watched. Of Important items scratched off never-ending lists. 

I know why this is happening too. Because even the Universe doesn't work for free. 

She needs to gets paid. 

And you have to suffer for your love. Her favours.

So you temper your own happiness with the pain around you. You deal with what it means to be back home and far away. You regain one family and lose another. You see her smile frozen over bad Internet and hope it's better tomorrow. You force yourself to feel productive in your own lonely world and not waste precious time wasting precious time. But you end up doing it anyway. Counting.  

I want to be so busy I stop counting. So busy I stop keeping track.