On leaving England, I racked my mind, missing some item I'd left behind. I didn't know what, and I didn't know where, but as I absently pushed back my hair, it came to me: that it wasn't an object, it couldn't be; there was not a single object I had missed, thanks to my exhaustive and neurotic list. No, what I was missing was far more vital than some forgotten thing, with an unknown title. What I lacked was you, your face, your voice. I would never have missed it, had I had the choice. Far easier for me had I misplaced a limb, a kneecap, an earlobe, a trivial thing, than been without you, my partner in crime, in love, in life, throughout all of time. But distance is nothing, a meaningless haze. I'm only without you for twenty five more days. After that, my love, if I got my way, you'd be by my side, and you'd be there to stay. If not in person, then within my mind, where in truth, I never really left you behind.
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For everyone who's ever been in a long distance relationship with someone that is worth every minute.
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