Writers 
I love you from a distance,
because close was never safe for us.
Close is a language you forgot,
and I am still fluent in you.
I love you in the way you love the moon β
not to hold, just to know itβs there,
glowing, even when the night is heavy.
You are miles away,
but you live in my mornings.
In the song I skip because it sounds like you.
In the prayer I whisper when your name slips out before I can catch it.
If I had you closer,
I would love you loudly.
But from here,
I love you quietly,
purely,
and with no ending date.
But nevertheless,
I hope someone loves you the way I would have β
with both hands, with no hesitation,
with a heart that never learned how to leave.
Me?
I am here, loving you in the quiet places.
In the ache between my ribs at dawn,
In the unsent messages that know your number by heart.
In the prayers where I say your name
and God knows exactly who I mean.
If love were measured by proximity,
we would be nothing.
But mine has grown roots in absence.
Mine has learned to bloom without water.
Do you ever feel it?
That tug? That sudden softness?
That's me, from miles away,
still choosing you
in a world where you no longer choose me.
Distance didn't make my heart forget.
It taught it how to love you
without needing to touch you.
