For years I had wanted to get into a Masters program in London. I had been once for a few days and new that I belonged there. I applied, there were hiccups, lost papers, lost emails, lost lost lost - I assumed it wasn't in the cards, I began another program - an upgrade year of sorts - at York University, in my hometown. Starting at York, meant moving home fro the first time in 6 years. I was going to be living at home with my family, and best of all in the same city as my boyfriend, who has been patiently enduring 3 years of long distance - long-distance phone calls, long-distance flights, long-distance from Montreal, Boston, China, Jordan, Israel, Thailand, Switzerland, Washington, Mexico, New York... long long distances - my work had a lot of travel involved.
Finally to be home and to be together - at the same time, in the same place. It seemed so unlikely, almost impossible. But then it wasn't, and it was amazing. I got used to sleeping in the same bed, going to movies, having meals together, seeing each others families, popping by his house after class, lying around together on a sunday, having sex whenever we wanted to... just the same every day things that normal couples get to do all the time.
Then one morning - a few weeks after starting classes - I got an email that said I was accepted to the school in London. I didn't even think it was real at first. But it was, and I knew I was going to accept. M, my boyfriend, was leaving the next day to Mexico to move his father down there, and our days had already been planned and filled and there wasn't much time to really talk about anything.
We had always assumed if I got into London we would break up... but what did that actually mean?
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