Distance. 8 letters used to describe an enormous amount of space between him and I. Space that was suffocated and blue. Space had made showing affection to one another hard and it made me think of how much admiration I had for couples who could weather long distant relationships.
I was 1,450 miles from him and it felt like worlds away, like we were on the phone and could only hear static as we went around on a metaphorical carousel. A lot was being said but neither of us could hear the other speak. We’d fight about missing each other and schedules and making time to visit.
He and I were building empires for ourselves. We were trying to set ourselves up for success. College, work, all very cliché. The books and movies make it seem so easy but we rapidly found that it was no walk in the park.
I think our biggest issue was that we were so focused on our own progress that we never noticed that he and I, as a couple, were becoming regressive.
I still haven’t come to peace with the fact that there is no saving what we had. I knew the second that I saw him that I would love him even though others told me I was too young to know love. He and I were no Bonnie and Clyde but we were Allie and Noah from The Notebook. It was what everyone’s first love should be like. It should be a combination genuine happiness and passion and intimacy.
As time passed, we created our own goals and stopped accommodating one another. We had lost the fire we once had.
Timing wasn’t right. I was meant to find him years later. I know that. I can feel it in my bones. The way that I still love him even after all that has happened, all the time that has passed. We will reunite either later on, or in another life, but I know that his heart and mine are meant to be. Maybe not now, but one day.