Hey there, beautiful. What’s it like in that bright city? I’m a thousand miles away, yet even tonight, your beauty shines as vividly in my mind as the stars above. Not even the northern lights can compare to you. Hey there, baby. Don’t worry about the distance, our souls are still entwined, our hearts beating in perfect rhythm. Just close your eyes, listen to my voice, and imagine me by your side, whispering all the love I carry for you. Hey there, my love. I know things have been hard, but believe me—one day, we’ll close this distance. We’ll build the life you’ve always dreamed of, and our love will be more beautiful than we ever imagined. Hey there, honey. I have so many more words left to write, endless poems woven just for you. If every verse could make you love me even more, I’d write forever—falling deeper, sinking further into your heart. A thousand miles may feel like an impossible expanse, but I’d listen to the hum of trains, the soaring of planes, I’d even walk until my legs gave out, just for the chance to hold you again, to feel the warmth of your skin. Doubt may creep in, and people may laugh, but we’ll smile through it all—because I have never felt a love so true. And baby, I promise you this: no matter how long it takes, no matter how much the world may change, I will find my way back to you. Hey there, love. I hope my words find their way to you, carrying all the love I feel. One day, this distance will be nothing more than a memory. And when that day comes, I’ll finally get to say: This is where I’ll forever stay.

I say I hate you, but it’s a lie, and I’m sorry for it. There could never be a moment where I truly despise you, not even if I summoned all my will to try. It’s not you I loathe, it’s the storm you’ve left raging inside me. I hate the rawness you carve into me, the way your absence coils tight around my chest, stealing my breath and smothering the air. I hate how I sit here waiting for you, silent and small, hoping with every fiber that your name will light up my screen again. I want you to text me, to give me the chance to tell you about the way the sunlight hit perfectly today or to share the words others have spoken to me. I want to tell you how I can’t stop thinking about you, how I ache for you to be here. But part of me wants you to push me away, to block me, to tell me I’m unworthy. To say I’m awful, that you can’t stand the thought of me. Maybe then, I’d have permission to stop craving you, stop needing the space you fill so effortlessly. I hate you. I hate this. But really, I’m lying. I miss you. I love you. And that, more than anything, is what I hate most of all.

I have a reckless habit of diving headlong into love. I’m the one who leaps without hesitation, casting aside caution and leaving my heart unguarded. No walls, no moats, no watchful sentinels, just an open door, waiting to be crossed. When your love called to me, I rushed toward it, drawn like waves to the shore or roots to fertile earth. I don’t fear the fall or falling short; the plunge itself is where life resides. My heart, a glowing ember, yearns for a spark, igniting into a fire of passionate desire. I crave connection, the touch, the intimacy, the raw beauty of love in all its ebb and flow. I’ve always understood the risks. Each whispered confession carries the weight of uncertainty, the chance that these feelings may not bloom. Yet I leap anyway, without regret, without armor. Vulnerability is my compass, for only through openness can I embrace the fullness of love’s offerings. And even if I emerge bruised and broken, it’s within those ruins that the art of love is most vividly painted. Call me reckless if you will, or a fool. Perhaps I am. But I would rather dive in with abandon, drowning in the depths and soaring in the heights, than live without ever truly loving. To love fully, to risk everything, is to truly live before I die.

Why is love both breathtakingly beautiful and heartbreakingly painful? Like a rose in full bloom, its vivid colors dazzle the eyes, and its petals unfold to reveal hidden beauty. Its fragrance can draw in even the most guarded, yet its thorns pierce deeply when mishandled, reaching places where secrets lie. Love is the sweetness of honey on soft, inviting lips, intoxicating and delightful, yet overwhelming if taken without care. It’s a songbird soaring through the sky, its melody gracing the world below, until its wings are clipped, turning songs into sorrowful cries. Love is the ocean, vast and endless, with tides that caress softly before transforming into crashing waves that overwhelm. It’s the gentle kiss of the sun, warming the soul on a cold day, but lingering too long, it burns the unguarded. Like a blazing fire, love burns brightly, illuminating everything around it, but left untended, it can consume all in its path. It’s the joy whispered while gazing into your stormy gray-blue eyes, a joy that gives way to an aching longing that echoes like thunder in its absence. Love, it seems, is a force that creates and destroys with every breath we take. So, hold that glass of wine delicately, savor its sweetness before it turns bitter. Grip it too tightly, and the shards may cut deep. Love is both bitter and sweet, a fleeting perfection that we are destined to encounter, again and again.

I know I shouldn’t. Logic wages a steady battle, reason standing firm, but desire roars louder, wild and relentless. If you were to so much as text me, my fingers would fly to the notification before my heart could catch its rhythm, answering without a moment’s pause. That soft glow of a message lighting up my dark room would feel like it’s illuminating my soul, flooding me with a dangerous kind of pleasure. If you called, I’d only pause to steady my breath, to mask the trembling in my voice, the longing hidden in that first fragile “hello.” Every word I speak would slip through the cracks of the dam I’ve tried so hard to build, spilling out in a stream of quiet yearning. I know I shouldn’t, but you’ve always had this way of unraveling me. You’re the melody I can’t forget, the gravity that holds me no matter how far I try to stray. And if you wanted me, I’d be yours again, without question, without hesitation. Over and over, for eternity.

Breakups don’t make sense to me. Am I just supposed to feel nothing now? To erase all the time we spent together, the memories etched into my mind, the quiet promises whispered in the dark? Am I meant to set it all on fire, pretending you don’t cross my thoughts with every breath I take? As if love is just a fleeting phase, something that vanishes as easily as it began. Am I supposed to suddenly hate you, to force down the feelings still rooted in my chest? Forget the warmth of your hand in mine, our fingers laced together against the chill of the world? What about the dreams we built, reshaping our futures to fit one another? Is “moving on” some sort of magic trick? Or is it a spell no one’s ever taught me, some dark art that hides the ache beneath tangled overgrowth? Do the feelings ever really die, or do they just lie buried, choked out by weeds where flowers once bloomed? The silence left in their place is deafening, and I can’t understand how hearts can simply unravel. How love, once so vivid, can close its eyes to everything it defined. How am I supposed to walk away when the echoes of what we had still call me back?

The red string, a thread so delicate it escapes even the keenest eye, yet so unyielding it binds two souls as one. It stretches through time and space, weaving effortlessly through obstacles in its path. Silent and unseen, it guides a journey meant to be traveled, connecting hearts despite life’s chaos. No matter how far it’s pulled or how tangled it becomes, it never breaks. I’ve brought scissors to mine, once even a knife, tired of the chase, weary from the search. But the thread remains intact, defying every attempt to sever it. It holds fast, enduring the weight of dreams whispered into the night and the long sighs of defeat. Even as my hands tremble, losing their grip, the string stays, steadfast, showing me the way. It unravels knots tied by false connections and leads me back to the path I strayed from. It holds the hands that are destined to find one another, unseen but unbreakable. A love so patient, it waits for its moment to be discovered. So I’ll trust its pull, follow its silent call, and hope it’s leading me to you. Are our red strings intertwined? Do they lead us to each other?