Letter for him

FROM THE COLLECTION: And we call that love?

It is said that hello’s never last, and goodbyes are not forever. In between exists a space of here and now. 


Presence. State that knows no laws of gravity or transience. Presence is a rare gift, only there to be felt, touched, kissed, yet never owned. 


Distance is its sister, filling up the emptiness between the last goodbye and the next hello. You cannot predict its tide nor currents. She’s like fields in the winter – curiously waiting to see which seeds will be planted in well-rested soil in the spring. What color palette of wildflowers will bloom here when the snow melts away?


On the long magical nights, when the air smells like a nostalgic story, there exists a bridge between presence and distance. It’s the knowing that you and me, my dear, are looking at the same moon, counting the same stars under the night skies, and hearing the same echo of laughter, once felt in closeness. 


Let the distance be gentle with our hearts, let the presence bring playfulness, and let there be abundant fields of wildflowers in spring.


Until next time.




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