Some nights I think the distance in our hearts might crush us.
We never asked for it. We, us, the armies of humans too small to be noticed, we learned our letters and our numbers and we came home and fought this war. We got off the school bus and took up our swords and our armor.
This distance was our everything and we fought it like hell. We knew it was wrong. It hurt. With every step back, every brusque goodbye, every callous laugh at every accidental weakness. It’s not fair. We knew it. We knew it.
And we fought it.
But this was all we knew.
And so now us of the box forts and the books and the flashlights and the swords of kindness and armor of pretend, we flock out into the darkness.
We hail our cabs in the night, breathless with the tears we couldn’t cry. We turn on our heels with a goodbye that said nothing. We stand at airports and watch as our hearts walk through security and we don’t raise a fuss. We sink into the cool plastic of the subway and wonder what would have happened if we were the kind of person who could have let ourselves sink into their arms for a second, a second or two. We laugh about weak admissions of wantings and claim we’re just like this. We walk away. And when the distance in our hearts starts to close, we run.
We run like hell.
We’re still alone in the night, hiding under our blankets but we make it look so cool. We learned to make distance look so cool. We learned to make alone look so cool.
It’s helpful, sometimes, but you don’t need me to tell you that.
But I need you with me here for a second. I need you to remember for just a second, because sometimes I get scared for people like us. Sometimes I get scared that the distance in our hearts will crush us.
Remember for just a second when you hated them for their half second-hugs and for leaving without saying goodbye.
Remember when you stood there in your footy pajamas and they walked by on the phone without a second to notice you.
Remember how small you felt when they saw your tears and laughed at the pointlessness of such an expression.
Remember how much you just wanted to be the most important thing for a second or two.
Remember how unimportant all of their all-important”busy” seemed to you when you woke up from a Tuesday night’s nightmare.
Remember how you swore you wouldn’t keep your love a secret.
Remember how you swore you’d never do it.
Now we know how to make the distance look so cool.
But you with your studio apartments, and your sparkling heels, and your numbers games and your busy, don’t forget that you used to stand there in your footy pajamas, crying and swearing that you’d never— you’d never make love hurt so much.