I guess I was being selfish when I’d asked for some. Like I thought distance could be some form of weapon I could defend myself with against you, against all the hurt you could cause.
I needed to feel like my emotions weren’t hitched onto something that could collapse in a moment; I needed to feel like I could be pressed up against your side yet still be an independent; and I needed for you to miss me while I was gone.
I needed for distance to whisper in your ear when I wasn’t at the dinner table, and our friends asked where I’d been. I needed for distance to remind you to check your phone when my ‘good morning’ texts (with a smiley) left a vacant space on your screen. I needed for distance to nuzzle against your bare, cold skin when you climbed into bed to watch a movie alone.
I needed for distance to make you notice my absence.
I needed for distance to be a friend. But I’d never thought that it’d take your side.
I’d never accounted for how distance would hum beside me in the car when your favourite song came on the radio. I’d never accounted for how distance would nip at the skin under my jacket when you weren’t there to offer me a spare. I’d never accounted for how this weapon would be double-edged. (But why does it feel sharper on my end?)
They always say “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
Well, I call bullshit.
I call bullshit on rom-coms when the girl’s about to board a plane and the guy suddenly realises how much he actually loves her. I call bullshit on when my dog comes back from a full day missing and I feel the erratic urge to fill his food bowl a little fuller. I call bullshit on when my parents go on week-long business trips, half a world away, and I hug them tighter once they’re home.
I call bullshit on the entire scheme.
Because all distance has done for your heart, is show it that it could beat without me. And all distance has done for my heart, is make it pine for you.