I’m not okay with loving you from a distance, but maybe love was never meant to be held so close. Perhaps the purest form of love is knowing when to let go, before we unravel each other thread by thread. Maybe the space between us will heal the scars we left behind. Maybe the silence between our glances is gentler than the weight of words unspoken. The nights stretch on like the miles between us, do you feel it? The absence, the ache, the closeness of what almost was. I stand at the threshold of our past and future, one foot in the memories we shared, the other in a future we may never touch. Were we anything more than two souls reaching, running along the outline of something that no longer exists? There’s not enough distance to forget, yet too much to reach you. I watch the tide rush in, wondering if I fought against the current, would you come ashore with me, or would you drift further into the deep? Would we unravel completely, or could we weave ourselves into something new? But maybe love is knowing when to stop reaching. Maybe it’s recognizing that we gave all we could and stepping back before we lose ourselves entirely. I’m not okay with loving you from afar, but maybe distance is the only thing keeping us whole.