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What it feels like to love through 1,031 miles

What it feels like to love through 1,031 miles:

 

Someone once asked me how I would describe love. I suppose thousands of things could have ran through my head.

But mostly, for us, it merely was hands waving from dirty train windows, white smoke billowing around familiar faces, then eventually masking the last possible view.

That about sums love up for me and you. Waiting, leaving, coming and going.

We rarely lived off the same time, but you told me we still took breaths in the same rhythm. You told me that you could still feel my heart beat in your palm and you hoped I could feel yours too. I swore I could, I swore to god I could, but some days when you were far too busy to talk, I felt like the weight of the world was crushing in on me and you were standing on the very top.

I was told love was supposed to feel free, sitting on tips of feathers floating through the warm summer breeze, but after all this time I felt like we were, more so, chained to each other.

And then I would think of how lovely you are, and then I would think about the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I’m your anchor to a place you’re not even sure you want to be anymore.

That idea tainted my view of you, of love, of distance, but really it just tainted how I viewed myself.

Because I imagined my self-pulling you down. I had nightmares that I was pulling you back to a place you felt would suffocate you. A place you had possibly once called home, but could no longer bear that title.

I thought of myself as just a crumpled up piece of paper with the plot of the story you got too uninterested to write.

I felt even if I was a plot line, you would never think of me as a good story or even a good idea. I would be shoved into your pocket, just something you carried around with you. More of a burden than a keepsake.

But as I sighed the last syllable of chained together endearments through the phone that somehow, has kept us connected, I could hear you breathing. And it was still in rhythm with my own.

Surely if I was just an anchor holding you down, your heart would not beat to the same tune mine had. And if you couldn’t feel how loved you were through the miles, the silence wouldn’t have been comfortable but it was, and the light hum through the phone line had finally felt like coming home.

And I couldn’t possibly care about the distance, the plane rides, the trains.

Because even over the light hum of the phone, I still found comfort in something as simple as your voice.
Nothing as shallow as being alone  could matter.

For as long as I was in love with you, I could never feel lonely.
-M.d.s

 

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