The next morning, Michael told me that he was due to leave for Athens in two days time. That he had a ticket leaving for JFK on Tuesday next week. Today was Wednesday.
I instantly pulled back. I felt myself heading inwards, retreating out of harms way.
I didn’t want to be doing this again with someone who would leave, I knew I wouldn’t handle it well.
So with a very heavy heart, I managed to avoid seeing him for the next two days. It wasn't easy. I worked by day and slept by night. I didn’t go into the village and I didn’t take any walks down the beach.
Saturday morning - his day of departure - came, just like any other.
I woke with the daylight and stepped out of the tent, hoping that someone had made some coffee on the campfire.
Michael had gone and I was relieved that this was something I no longer had to worry about or think about. So why did I feel so sick. So desperate that I had missed something. So certain that I had been a fool.
No coffee had been made, and none of my fellow campers were awake, so I threw on a sweatshirt and some shorts and headed into the village in search of caffeine.
As I walked into the village square I saw a familiar shape sat on the wall outside the store.
“I didn’t go”, he said. “I couldn’t do it”.