5,437 is the distance in miles separating you from me right now. 8 is the number of hours between our two hearts. And as I lay in my bed, looking at the ceiling and counting miles and days and hours and minutes and seconds, I find myself missing you.
I will delicately rest my head on your shoulder, and kiss you on your right cheek when you don’t expect it. I will breathe in your cologne and the scent of your skin, and come brush my cheek against yours as we say goodbye under the porch of my apartment block.
I like this photograph because of the way it makes me feel. Like it’s heaven on earth. I like that it’s surreal and comforting at the same time. I like that it’s permanent and immutable. I like that such a pretty thing can never go away or disappear.
There’s something in you that moves me. There’s something in you that makes me fall deeply, foolishly and completely. There’s something good, big, scary, and yet beautiful.
I am sorry that you thought you couldn’t be worth a universe. Because you are. Because everyone is. Everyone withholds an entire galaxy within his or her own soul. And so do you.
What I see in you is poetry. I see a perfectly imperfect and beautifully flawed human being – a speck of dust in the universe, made of some of the same atoms and molecules as the stars.
So I woke up that morning. I was breathing. I was alive. And I was proved that holding on one day more could just bring me the one thing that’d eventually make it all okay, the one person of all the six billion people in the world who would bring the light back into my life.