Approximately 4700 miles.
That’s the current distance, as the car drives (not as the crow flies) between the one I care about and myself, that accursed distance.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but distance makes the absence harder.
Let’s hear it for more pithy bastardizations of old, well-known platitudes.
Tomorrow I go to visit another old good friend that has recently gotten married, cuaght in that minute moment of infinite calm possibilities immediately before a diver’s fall, as they stand at that precipice, awaiting their spring-board into their new lives.
Tomorrow, I watch as another will cast off what-has-come-before and begin finding their own way towards what-may-or-may-not-come.
And I will be left behind on this path, now one traveler fewer in what seems like an increasingly lonelier road, friends finding their own paths and leaving me to mine, awaiting the time when the path changes for me as well. In so doing, I am left to carry-on with a lazy saunter, only caring about the few steps before me, never even looking towards the horizon at what the path may bring or where it may go.
I know where I’d like it go, I’d like it to lead me to her, but I have an irrational and probably unfounded fear that our paths too may diverge. Those who say that time is the great equalizer were never wrought at the hands of distance.
In the meantime, I continue to coast, a few steps at a time, waiting for an opportunity to halt this stillness and make a break for the horizon, towards her, towards the one I truly want to walk the road with.
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