There is nothing fair about the 6, 679 miles between us.

There is nothing fair about you being so far away from me.

There is nothing fair about the possibility that we might never see each other again.

There is nothing fair about the expensive plane tickets we're going to have to buy when other people just have to open the front door in the morning to see the love of their life holding up a bag of bagels and coffee.

There is nothing fair about not being able to say good night at the same time.

There is nothing fair about falling in love with someone who's about to leave in three months.

There is nothing fair about being given only three months with each other.

When you meet the other half of your soul, when you finally put the two pieces together, it should be illegal to ask one of them to move to another continent.

Because there is nothing fair about a soul inhabiting two bodies, when the two bodies are 6, 679 ******* miles apart.

i fell in love
with the distance
between us

i fell in love
with the timing
and how it's always off

i fell in love
with the hope
that these walls
have nowhere to go
but down
and he'll be on the
other side, waiting

i fell in love
with the thought of
possibly
hopefully
falling in a kind of love
that overcomes
transatlantic flights
and time zones

cold fingers are too numb
i try to hold on but it’s gone

a small dot in the horizon
i can only run for so long

sore throat from screaming
but you’re not listening

you say you want to change
but nothing’s the same

tell me, be honest with me
stop trying to convince me

i have no need for the extra
space in my bed ?

but i also have no need for
people who mess with my head

just rip my heart
out of my chest
with your bare hands
and long fingers

throw it out
to the sea

burn it
to ashes

leave it to
gather dust

because that’s
your thing,
right?
that’s what
you do?

and i don’t
want to
change you

i’m sorry but i can’t
offer you anything.
not even my 5am’s because
they are already taken
by another guy who doesn't
even know he has them.

i don’t want to throw
you a bone because you’ll
keep asking for more and
i don’t want to have to
throw you my own spine
(i need it
every time he’s
around)

the bags under my eyes
are never going to be
your fault, nor will
the wishes on stray hairs
be about you

it’s not you
it’s me
it’s him

do not wait for the apple
to fall down, do not climb
the **** tree to pick the
apple on your own.

the tree isn't yours.

a distant memory,
a dream forgotten 5 minutes after waking up
but not entirely

fragments of an old
black and white movie

try to remember the first line
or the last scene

but they’re out of reach;
a word on the tip of your tongue
that never rolls off

remind myself

it happened
it happened
it happened

did it really?