The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost.
Our hours in love have wings; in absence, crutches.
Odd how much it hurts when a friend moves away- and leaves behind only silence.
I love when I reach Marcus on the phone and as he says hello, I can hear the music he's listening to in the background. That music is the sound of him without me. How he surrounds himself when I'm not there, which is almost all the time.
Obviously, a long-distance relationship is hard. But, like anything worth having, you make it work.
If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than it was because he was he, and I was I.
And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.
The distant soul can shake the distant friend's soul and make the longing felt, over untold miles.
I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal.
There is love in holding and there is love in letting go.
I imagine a line, a white line, painted on the sand and on the ocean, from me to you.
I'll never see them again. I know that. And they know that. And knowing this, we say farewell.
Unfortunately, I'm more experienced than I care to admit on long-distance relationships. Just because that is my life. I travel because I love to. As a result, I have to sort of make it work when a relationship kind of comes into view.
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