****.
****, ****, ****,
I hope we find each other some day.
To be sick of distancing myself to be pulled right back,
because pulling hurts but the distance hurts stronger.
We are too close to not be together.
Separate beings that are too much alike and god how I loathe to miss you.
How I wish that next time I see your face, it does not play in my head like a rerun without ads.
I am sick to death of writing love poems about you.
Can’t we just be in inside them?

— p.d.e