Distance

As the pressures of school and a future forces me back into a corner full of work and stress, the need for someone who cares for me completely amplifies itself significantly. I was extremely lucky to actually find the kind of compassion I’ve searched for during these times, but I can’t help but feel as if the fact that it’s a long-distance relationship may actually be more of a detriment than a boon.

As I was chasing a possible relationship through the tangle of the female psyche, I stumbled upon a rather recent friendship. I excitedly told her of these possibilities I had, and she was genuinely excited for me. She helped me prepare and make the best of the situation, but after the report of the first “date”, she hit me with a curveball that threw every plan I could have planned out of alignment—she had grown to fancy me.

As I struggled through decisions that I needed to make, it became blindingly obvious that Elanor wasn’t the best choice for me: She was the only choice. The way her words made me smile, the way I hung on every word she said, the way I would sit on the edge of my seat in giddy anticipation of her next sentence—everything about her made me forget about all the worries and stresses of things in my life. I was, after months and months of waiting, happy. The only problem was the distance.

For the first few weeks, I reveled in the blossoming relationship we were nurturing. Every night was a whirlwind of words and letters, blending and melting into everything I have wanted. She emerged through these encounters as more than a woman, but a woman who fulfilled all the things I could ask for. She was quick witted, had a passion for the arts, not at all shy about saying what was on her mind, and genuinely cared for me, regardless of what stupid things I managed to say.

The thing about a long-distance relationship is that all the sexuality is gone. Sure, we’d talk about sex and about fantasies and encounters we’d have in the future, but the physical touch was absent. I related proximity to sex, and knew that I could go without it for the sake of watching something so right that it provoked the existence of something greater than either of us become something bigger and more beautiful than anything I could ever fathom; however, as we began digging past the soft skin of cute flirtation and into the bone and sinew of emotions, fears, worries and hopes that the lack of proximity became painfully apparent.

It started out small—a little itch that we began scratching at until it grew into a gaping wound that needed immediate attention before it became infected and detrimental to the health of an us. I searched so hard for an indicator of content, be it a smile or a frown or a furrow of a brow, but the letters and symbols that appeared were frustratingly devoid of such a gauge. It was then when I knew deep down that we had to be with each other. I needed to talk to this woman and watch her eyes wander around my face, watch her hands tremble in anticipation of my next word, and hear her breath go shallow at the possibility of a problem.

We’re both heavily invested in this relationship, both emotionally and time-wise, so naturally we’d talk and talk and talk until we both got the impression that we knew how the other felt, but even after the words were said and the reassurances were typed, it lacked finality. There was no hug, there was no assuring squeeze of a shaking arm, and there was no waking up next to a smiling face to be had. Instead, there was a pulsating thread of worry wrapped around my conscious, wondering, “What if she hadn’t understood?”

After the conversations now, instead of having a feeling of fullness, of complete tranquility, knowing that everything in the world is okay, I just feel drained, worried, and completely alone. It’s not anything that I’m upset about, because I know El cares completely about me and my feelings, but it’s a painful reminder that I’ve got to wait until I can finally be held by the one person who I want more than anything else in the world.

There is one thing that surprises me about this relationship, and that’s the fact that I’ve completely fallen in love with her through words and hopes. It’s gotten to the point where instead of shrugging it off, curling up and going completely unresponsive that I want to actively fight her to make sure that she really understands my feelings, and that I really understand her feelings. Despite all the red flags a long-distance relationship usually throws, I completely want this in my life. I want to hang on to these letters until the day comes where I finally see her running towards me in the airport terminal and I can pick her up, twirl her around, her legs kicking up and spinning through the air, and kiss her with all the passion and love that I’ve been building up for the past months. Because, at that point, I can finally be more than a simple shell holding a heart meant for her—I can be her somebody to keep her safe, and to make her smile every moment of every day.