This Is Me Nine Months Long

A little update about myself, since I haven’t written in months. And so I will do it in the most natural way possible for me.


I am in a long distance relationship. He is halfway around the world away from me. His morning is my night, his breakfast my dinner, his beginning my end. It was bound to happen, he was just a wanderer around where I was born. No one knew something as complicated and amazing as love would come out of all the chaos and turmoil that is life for the both of us. It was nothing but bliss for quite a while, until reality had to slap us in the face to wake us up. So we did, we departed from one another, a tiny piece of our hearts left with the other.

People often ask me, “Isn’t it hard?”.

Of course it is. What kind of stupid question is that?

Before technology was at its best (as it tries to be) now, long distance relationships involved writing a bunch of love letters to one another. They were called snail mail for a reason. The letters took weeks or months, depending on the distance, to get to your significant other, and you wait for another weeks or months for your reply to arrive.

But by golly, it worked. Even better than present relationships. Why is that?

The problem with having everything is that we take them for granted.

People had less things to do then, unlike us who have trolling the internet and playing Don’t Touch The White Tile. The anticipation must have killed them, even worse than I am going through. They had nothing else to do but think! In our busy world with our busy lives, we’re more likely to stop thinking about our special someone so far away from us, the reality of life making us forget. But we have Skype now! And Avocado!

I should consider myself lucky but I still don’t.

How do I get by?

The answer is, I don’t.

No one gets by being miles away from someone you love. I carry that weight wherever I go. I go through my life and wish he was there, even during the tiniest, infinitesimal moments. There are moments that I am happy, but then I remember. My heart starts to sink, I wish that he was there again with me.  There are moments when I am devastated, and then I remember again. My heart sinks even further, I wish he was there to comfort me. So no, I don’t get by. I live with the continuous sinking feeling, the lack of that missing, vital piece.

There are also a special breed of people who ask me, “What if it doesn’t work out?”.

YOU CAN’T JUST ASK SOMEONE IN A RELATIONSHIP WHAT IF IT DOESN’T WORK OUT. It’s like you’re so certain that they’re not going to end up together. Heaven knows they’ve put a wager on how long it will take.

I hope that’s not the case for my part.

But the truth is, I don’t know what to do if it doesn’t work out. I don’t even want to think it. I just go where the water takes me, and if the end is to him, then that is where I will be. It sounds pretty passive of me, but it sounds more sane than having an answer to what if it doesn’t work out. It would sound like I would be most certain that it wouldn’t. And I don’t. I really really don’t.

And I’m not being close-minded, I’m just being… hopeful.

Isn’t love supposed to be enough to surpass all time and space and maybe both?

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