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Making it over the mountains.
The following days were as magical as we had been expecting. We saw an awful film and shared amazing kisses, we went shopping for as long as Lucy could keep me in Selfridges before I dragged us away and we ended the trip with a day out to a theme park, high on the adrenaline of the rides and of being with each other. Even a homophobic couple beside us couldn’t dampen the perfect day we were sharing with each other.
That night was one of the hardest in our history. We held each other close and talked the night away, drinking each other in; unable to stomach the fact that the moment morning dawned we would be separated again.
When I left Lucy at the airport the tears fell fast and heavy between us. Shakily I pressed a poem I had written for her into her hand and waved her off, planting my feet firmly on the ground to prevent myself from running after her and begging her to stay.
On the way home nagging doubts pounded in my head. This relationship was incredibly, the best thing in my life, but was the excruciating pain of each ended encounter worth it? Shaking my head I pushed the thoughts away. I loved her, that was all that mattered, and surely love was enough to conquer anything?
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