Ever since I moved to Motovun more than five years ago, my beloved visits me every fortnight. That is, we are together for four days and apart for ten. This is our regular pattern, but occasionally our separations are a bit shorter or longer. Four or five times a year we are separated for just a week, or four to five days only. Two or three times a year we are apart for three weeks, which translates into seventeen days. Now, the last bout of my beloved’s illness has changed all that. This time we have been apart for twenty-six days already, but it is still impossible to tell when we will get together again. Her obligations at work are already pressing, and she will need some time to figure out when she could run away from her office for a brief visit to Motovun. One way or another, this time around we will be separated for more than a full month. I am not sure exactly why I am going into all this detail, but it seems to me that I am getting a bit apprehensive about my beloved’s next visit. How are we going to feel about each other after such a long while? Actually, will we recognize each other at once?

Addendum (September 5, 2008)

All of the above is a bit of an exaggeration, of course. More than ever before, we talked on the phone. Every day, in fact. And many of the calls were longer than an hour, too. For the record, our longest talk was an hour and twenty-two minutes. At any rate, my beloved will come to Motovun late this afternoon or early this evening. This is the thirty-third day since her last departure. As far as recognition is concerned, there will be no problem: her car is an unmistakable shade of yellow. Or so we have joked with each other on the phone a few times already.