This time I see him, after a long time apart, I am struck by how real he is.
I marvel at the texture of his hair, being able to run my fingers through it and fluff up his bangs; his gentle, brown eyes; the warmth of his flesh; the comforting smell of his body and his clothes; the clearness and closeness of his voice, unadulterated by Internet connections and unfiltered by the reception of cell phones; how strong he is now that he wraps around me when I move to embrace him and dwarfs me, encloses me.
I hold his hands again. As I interlock my fingers with his, our palms meet like old friends. I almost forget how nuanced they were - he contours of his face. These details had faded from my memory after countless video conversations, where all I could see were his head and shoulders, a simple frontal view where the image is grainy and the audio lags.