#even when

Everyone sees it — the bond, even stretched by distance.

They say we’ll be talking again by the end of the month.

Maybe they’re right.

I don’t get to choose how strong the pull is.

I struggle with space,

my anxious attachment screaming to be quieted by your voice.

My brain insists this matters —

that this is something to save,

something of you to hold close.

So I pretend the map has finally folded,

that you’re here with me,

that love can breathe even when the hours don’t align.

I hate admitting how much of a hold you have on me,

but the heart doesn’t negotiate.

It wants what it wants.