A favorite poet of mine once said,
"Let love rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls."
With the winds guiding the waves towards each other's beach.
Uncertain of how it would reach its destination and may touch other island's shorelines.
But so sure that it would be the same water that would kiss each other's sands.
And I believed him.
But he was so wrong.

Because it wasn't the distance that kept us apart.
But time, every tic of its hands,
Time that I was supposed to spend right beside you,
Slowly fading. Dissolving.
Slowly passing.
Worse than being thieved by
Because if it passes, you cannot catch it back.
And I am ****** and frustrated
Because it seems like it's just time that is the true measure.
It's just time that's the very basis.
And, for me, only time spent beside you is what matters.