An older entry on leaving

Keep in mind this was written about a month ago.. I want to come back and add onto this now that the feeling has become exponentially larger in other senses.

I wonder what it is about coming and leaving that makes us feel so emotional. Logically, in my mind, I know that leaving Florida, my mother, my beautiful younger but far from little sister, the friends I've loved in my past, my dogs, even the cat who ignores my existence, is not anything to get upset about. Certainly nothing to cry about. I am going home to my comfortable and clean, organized bedroom. My loving boyfriend and my balancing best friend. What reason is there to blubber like a baby? None. Regardless, I find myself tearing up in the walkway of our little white ranch. I hold my sister tighter, suck in the delicious scent of her shampoo, feel my nose touch her ear through the cascading avalanche of her hair, I hug her petite frame, close my eyes and instantly feel all of the tiny bits and pieces of missing her at once. When I pull away and slide a finger under my eyelids, wipe the tears that have fallen onto my cheekbones, that immense feeling will be gone. Such a temporary feeling, a combination of all of the many small feelings thrown into a pie crust and baked into a large multi feeling pie. Is it an unconscious overcoming the conscious? I will not consciously miss her every day, I will not wake every morning and imagine myself in her bed, the dogs at our feet, the sun creeping through the blinds. I will not come home from work or school or Gary's and wish, every day, that she will be waiting for me in the living room. I will not consciously think of doing her laundry with mine as I lug my laundry basket down the basement stairs. I may, once in a while, think of the ridiculous ways she sits in her computer chair. I may remember her laughter, her scent, her silence, the way she questions me when she catches me watching her prepare for an evening of god knows what with who the hell knows who. Some days while I make up my face I may think of how uncomfortable it makes me to be surrounded by her immense beauty, how heart breaking her ever perfection is. For the way I feel about her is never that of a jealous sister but of a worried mother-friend, an adoring caregiver. I may not know yet the whole body loving, selflessness that comes with having my own offspring, but what I feel for her, I'm quite sure, is dangerously close. It teeters on a wooden see saw in an old beach town, the dead winter air rocks it softly and viciously back and forth, and I am forever watching and worrying she will fall and scrape her knee.