come to brazil: corbyn besson

𝒐𝒄𝒉𝒐; 𝒊 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕.

When the plane left the ground, I knew there was no turning back. I wouldn't see Corbyn for a long time, and I had to accept that. I took a long, shaky breath and looked out the window. I wondered if Corbyn was watching my plane take off, or if he had gone home.

Music pumped through my ears, that was the only thing preventing me from crying. Then, I thought of Corbyn's notebook in my hand luggage. I rummaged through my bag and pulled out the notebook and a pen, before starting to write. 

𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝒷𝓎𝓃,
𝒾 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝑜𝒻𝒻. 𝒾 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓁𝑒𝒻𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓁𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑜, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾'𝓂 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓇𝒶𝓌, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃. 𝒾 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓀. 𝒾 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑒𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝒾𝒸. 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒹𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔.

𝒾'𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒. 𝓂𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝒻𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒, 𝑜𝓇, 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃, 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓁𝑒𝓈𝒽. 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉. 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝒾 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈.

I put the notebook down, suddenly feeling really drowsy. And then, I fell into a peaceful sleep. 

I was awoken hours later to the plane landing. Once I got off this one, I'd be getting on another to get to Rio de Janeiro. As I got off the plane, I took a deep breath. I was officially miles and miles away from Corbyn. Now, we weren't walking on the same ground, but at least we were looking up at the same sky. 

I almost started to cry as I walked through the gate to get onto the other plane. When I did this a matter of hours ago, it was with Corbyn. Now, I was alone.

I got on the plane and got out the notebook again, it was the only way that could cope with missing Corbyn other than crying. 

𝒾'𝓂 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀. 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒶 𝒻𝑒𝓌 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇. 𝒾'𝓂 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒹 (𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉) 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒾'𝓂 𝒾𝓃 𝑅𝒾𝑜. 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾'𝓂 𝑔𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝓊𝓇𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝓊𝓇𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝓊𝓉𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾 𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉.

I snapped the book shut and put a hand to myself, starting to silently sob.

I'm getting further and further from you by the minute. 

"Are you ok?" The woman next to me asked. I turned my head to face her. She was an older woman, thin face, the same olive skin tone as me, and her black hair tied into a low bun. I started to tear up again.

"No." I shook my head, "I just left someone I really love. And I'm not going to see them again. At least for another two years."

"Aw, honey." The woman frowned, "Why can't you see each other sooner?" 

"Because I have to look after my abuela," I explained, wiping tears from my flushed cheeks. "And he's busy with his job. He's going on tour." The woman's face softened as she sighed. There was a pause, and for a moment I wondered if she was going to say anything more, or if she thought I was going mad. 

"It is hard when you miss people." The woman suddenly nodded, "But, you know, if you miss them, it means you're lucky." She said. I didn't understand. I felt extremely unlucky then. When the woman saw my confused expression, she added, "It means you had, or have, someone special in your life. Someone worth missing."

It was starting to make sense now. But I knew all along Corbyn was going to be special in my life, someone worth missing. 

"Yeah." I agreed, not knowing what to say. 

"Well, it's what they say back home,  'la vida sigue adelante, tú también deberías'." The woman sighed. Directly translated as, life moves on, you should too. And I wasn't surprised because she knew Spanish, because I could tell by her looks she was Latina. 

Or it wasn't the fact that I was mildly offended that I should 'move on' from Corbyn, when I was in love with him, and he was in love with me. It was the sentence, coming from her. 

"That's... that's a saying from where I grew up." I managed to say after a while.

"Really? Where are you from?" The woman asked. 

"Havana, Cuba." I nodded. 

"That is where I come from too." The woman smiled. It was weird who you could bump into on a flight. The woman's smile faded, "No... you are not Anita De Leon's niña, are you?" My eyes widened. 

"I am." I said, "How do you know mamá?"

"Friend of my friends." The woman smiled, "I am Luisa." She paused, "Me and your mamá were very close. I guess, we just lost touch." Luisa shrugged, she turned her head back to me. "Oh, but you are every bit of her. Very beautiful."

I blushed but smiled politely.

"Thank you," I said, "Why are you going to Rio?"

"A brief visit to my hermana. To 'clear the air'. Madre insists." Luisa rolled her eyes, "But, after that, I am headed back to Havana. Then, in a month I am getting married to my amante."

"Congratulations." I smiled.

"Thank you." Luisa grinned, "I am sure, soon enough, you and that boy will be taking the very same step." My heart thumped against my chest when she said that.

Corbyn and I getting married?

I just smiled at her, not knowing what to say. When we got off the plane and we had to go our separate ways, she kissed me politely on the cheek and said,

"I will see you hopefully when you come back home. I will let your madre know I saw you." Luisa smiled, holding my head like you would hold a baby's.

"Yeah, hopefully." I nodded. We said our goodbyes and only when I had got my luggage and was waiting for an uber, did I realise I was truly alone.

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. 
"𝑺𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏' 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 (𝑯𝒆𝒚!)
𝑰 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅, "𝑾𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆, 𝑰 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝑩𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒊𝒍"