Where Distance Learns to Breathe

 You call, and I forget how to breathe.

Time slows, and all I know is you.

I carry you in my days,
in quiet moments I cannot explain,
in thoughts that return without warning,
like a song I never chose but never skip.

I miss you in ways that feel unfair.
So I search for you in small corners,
in glimpses, in silence, in distance
just to hold onto what once came so easily.

I am working on myself,
building something worthy of us,
praying that something this close, this real,
might still become a miracle.

We meet through screens,
and I get lost in you
while you smile at something unseen.
I want to ask,
but fear steals my voice,
so I stay quiet
and promise myself
I will be the reason you smile again.

There is warmth here,
soft and fragile like distant love,
held together by hope and imagination.
But beneath it lives a quiet fear
that distance might never close,
that this may never become something we can touch.

Still, for love, I will rise.
For you, I will become more
than I have ever been.

So let us take this chance,
however uncertain, however far
and trust that maybe, just maybe,
eternity is waiting for us.