Jan 27
Even When
Everyone sees it — the bond, even stretched by distance.
They say we’ll be talking again by the end of the month.
Maybe they’re right.
I don’t get to choose how strong the pull is.
I struggle with space,
my anxious attachment screaming to be quieted by your voice.
My brain insists this matters —
that this is something to save,
something of you to hold close.
So I pretend the map has finally folded,
that you’re here with me,
that love can breathe even when the hours don’t align.
I hate admitting how much of a hold you have on me,
but the heart doesn’t negotiate.
It wants what it wants.
And still, it bleeds your name.
