This is it.
After goodness knows how many months of will-he-won't-he-when-will-it-happen messing around, in less than a week he'll be with her. Permanently. Maybe. He's packing as I write.
Where does this leave me? I don't know. Even now, I have no idea what happens to him-and-me 'us' when him-and-her 'us' becomes a full-time thing. I expected him to withdraw, put a distance in the relationship, but that just hasn't happened. If anything, he's been more affectionate, more loving, more considerate as the time for him to move approaches.
I seem to have adjusted okay too. I don't push, and I don't pressure, I don't ask the awkward questions. I take his "I'll always love you"s at face value. I just let things drift and if we drift apart, I'm ready, prepared -- I think. And if we don't, I'm ready for that too. When we met, he wasn't single after all. It's just another shift in a dynamic that never has been particularly stable.
Whatever happens, I honestly, truthfully, wish him well and happy.
I will certainly see less of him, that is inevitable. A new job where he has everything to prove -- that will cut into our daytime conversations, even if it doesn't end them completely. A new home with a new partner in it -- that will put a serious curb on the time we can talk in the evenings. A new country, one that I don't get cheap calling deals to, so it's goodbye to our regular phone calls.
But it doesn't feel over. Not the love, not the need for each other, not us. It's just like some kind of limbo. Even the pain seems to be in abeyance.
At some point it is going to hit, big-time. It's going to hurt, big-time. Even if the 'us' doesn't fall apart, the 'them' is going to sting.
But not yet. Not today. Today, I'm in calm waters, just waiting for the storm to break.