2.9.1A

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but that is not always true...since I’ve been here I’ve barely thought about Will at all. Well, I’ve thought about him. Wondered if he was worried about me or if he’s found himself a new girlfriend yet. Maybe mused is a more appropriate term for the way I’ve been considering him lately. I’ve had musings about Will Keene of late. Yes, that’s it. Musings.

But I haven’t missed him. There’s been no longing, no tears shed. I haven’t cried myself to sleep at night because I wanted to feel his arms around my middle, his breath at the back of my neck. I haven’t wondered about the sound of his voice or the brightness of his eyes, the way his hair is so unruly in the mornings. He hasn’t really come to the forefront of my thoughts until now.

And even now? He’s a pleasant memory, mostly. But I’m not missing him. Not here. Not when I have so much to learn, to see, to experience. Every day is something new, another adventure. It’s like a dream made corporeal. Ephemeral moments stretched into a seeming eternity. How can I ever miss the mundane when submerged in the ethereal?

And Will Keene? He’s a mundane.

Charlotte Fielding//Autumn in New York//213