begged you tried to get you to compile your dreams into a boring box of reality and shove them far away.
That's not realistic.
I said it over and over and over until finally, your gentle voice turned cold and started to agree with me.
I never really expected you to listen to me, or heed my counsel.
I never thought I'd hear the distress in your voice overcome the exciting emotions that have constantly stirred in your heart and danced around your chaotic mind for so many months.
And perhaps I was foolish and let myself dream too far and too quickly, just like you claimed.
And while I don't want to react in the way that a naive and theatrical school girl would, I must admit that it feels as if there has been a distance set between the present and our future.
As if we needed anymore distance between us. I truly believe 703 miles is enough.
I have to contain these feelings in small menacing cages until we reach a more appropriate time in our lives.
Whenever that may be.
I can't help but look at your shirts a midst my never-ending piles of laundry,
and pray that someday I'll hear the rustle of your feet in the other room
while I gently fold all of your clothes in the living room.
You'll come up behind me and gently rest your chin upon my shoulder and simply say,
"We made it, love. We finally made it."
But for now I will simply drape your big white t-shirt over my body every night and pray that it can hold me together.