2,505 Miles

January 6, 2018
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The entirity of the United States is nothing to stand between our bond, the connection held through pointless midnight texts, through Facetime calls where my imgination halts and the crystal in your iris swims, through promises of impulsive trips and promised plane tickets.

Divided by time zones, t h r e e hour separation invading.

I've never felt your pale skin underneath mine, your soft fingertip touches, your embrace of warmth, but I've felt your soul, dipped my finger to touch your heart.

In a parallel universe, there's two of us sitting in the same room, sharing the same oxygen, two souls connected by a chord together.

In a parallel universe, you're not t h r e e hours apart. In a parallel universe, you reside next door to me, and I can sneak inside your bedroom window recklessly during the dawn of midnight. 


But in the present, t h r e e hours apart, the stars envelop the both of us like a blanket, the moon hangs above our heads, and our eyes gaze at the same exact sun.

And perhaps, we are not so far apart.

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