It has been four months since we saw each other.
I never imagined it would go this far.

Between hundreds of thoughts and break-up speeches, I couldn’t bring myself to actually go through with it. Was that a clue that I never really wanted to? I was mad at you. Your behavior made me miserable and your inability to actually say something instead of sighing heavily into the phone made me nuts.

Yesterday when we talked and you sighed like you never sighed before didn’t make me angry, it made me sad. I never understood your actions, but those exhales into my ear from 2400 miles away made me think. And those thoughts got me to somewhere unreal.

Why was it so hard for you?

You kept telling me how shitty it is and how it “sucks” to be so far from each other. And when I kept it together, you were falling apart on the other side. But I never understood why it was harder on you.

I remember how I cried on the phone the day I left you. I remember I couldn’t bare it. My lungs were crushing, I couldn’t breathe. As a strong woman I am right now, I keep it inside, not even knowing what I feel for you.

I experienced so many raw emotions, feeling empty and exhausted, craving for sleep. When I talk to you and feel the frustration pulsating through your veins, I don’t believe it, I don’t trust it. There’s always this point in our conversations when I feel an unexpected pull and raging woe towards you.

I want to snuggle with you in your new apartment, I want to hug you from behind, I want to look up in your eyes and find the bit I’m missing, the sparkle I didn’t know you had.

Remember how it used to be?

I’d come over every weekend and we play house.

I miss your chest. I miss that one moment when you were angry at me and you pinned me to the wall and kissed me so hungrily and passionately. That moment is always on my mind.

I would never believe it would be like this if someone had told me. I didn’t trust you. While feeling safe being with you, I never trusted you. Not really. Not completely.

I knew you wouldn’t intentionally hurt me, but your actions were as ambiguous as your face. Inviting but incomparable. I couldn’t place you.

I lie in my bed every night and think how we’ll be together again. I feel you hugging me when I cry from a nightmare. I feel your eyes pinning through me. You stand in your kitchen and make us tea, while I’m in bed hoping you have something sweet to it. I show you movie trailers and you can’t choose even from only three. When you stop on one, I say “no” and propose something else.

I imagine looking for you in the airport, standing in the middle of a maze, glancing around, not being able to wait any longer.

It has been long enough.

I don’t care what this means. I don’t care where this goes and where could it possibly lead. I just want to hug you again. Spend days and weeks together. Go somewhere new. Embark on an adventure. Feel your fingertips on my cheek and fall asleep spooning.

I never thought we’d come this far.

Fifteen days until Christmas and my only wish is you.

I realized such an obvious thing not so long ago: we can’t be in two places at the same time. Pretty clear for any other human being but me.

In 2013 I celebrated Christmas in a small town near Frankfurt am Main, Germany. Middle-sized tree with loads of presents, kids waiting to tear up the wrapping paper, adults sitting in a circle, drinking champagne and only me, standing in the shadows and wishing I was somewhere else.

Back then I didn’t realize I would start a tradition of always wanting to be elsewhere, especially on Christmas. Tears filled my eyes, those crystal clear drops had to be shed in the realization that all I wanted for Christmas was to be near my family in Ukraine. And my wish is granted this year.

But as tradition goes, I am missing something. Or rather someone. I know we can’t spend Christmas together this year, but (still) as the song goes: all I want for Christmas is you.