The pen feels heavy tonight, heavier than usual. It’s always the quiet nights, the ones where the house settles around me and the only sound is the crickets outside, that my mind starts to wander. And it always wanders to you.
Do you ever think about it? About what life would be like for us if things were… different? If miles didn’t divide us? I picture it sometimes, in stolen moments. Little things, mostly. Waking up next to you, the smell of coffee brewing in our kitchen. Sunday mornings spent tangled in blankets, or arguing playfully over what to make for breakfast. Just… everyday ordinary, but with you in it.
It’s a dangerous game, I know, playing “what if.” But tonight, I can’t help it. My heart aches for a reality where geography wasn’t a cruel joke. Where a simple drive could bring us together, instead of hours on a plane, or countless missed calls because of time zones.
Do you ever feel that pang? That wondering, in the middle of your day, what our “normal” would be like? What routines we’d build, what silly inside jokes we’d create just by existing in the same space?
Sometimes I imagine telling you about my day, not over a crackly phone line, but curled up on a sofa, your arm around me. Or us just sitting in silence, comfortable in each other’s presence. It feels so real in my head, almost tangible. And then I open my eyes, and it’s just me, this journal, and the miles stretching endlessly between us.
I miss the possibility of it all. I miss us, the us that could have been, if only… if only things were different.
Always,
P.
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