Distance

I was idling on the beach, watching kids play and frolic in the waves, giggling nonstop. By early morning the beach was already crowded with wannabe surfers. Hordes of young couples and solo wanderers had convinced themselves that the only thing standing between them and proficient surfing was a few thousand bucks, fifteen minutes of demonstration on a stationary board by a professional, and one good push into the sea by an instructor. Colorful clothes, even more colorful surfboards, everyone posing for the Instagram shot. Second to last came the actual attempt, and last, almost always, came defeat, somewhere around an unbearable fifteen minutes in. So many women who’d clearly spent a small fortune on outfits that couldn’t justify their price by the amount of fabric used, maybe only by how much fabric was wasted making them. And then the guys, sitting, laughing, sunglasses on despite there being no sun, doing the customary ogling and side glances. My mind asked me, do you find anyone interesting here? I didn’t. It followed up relentlessly: why not? I don’t know, I said, not my type. Really, it replied. You have a type? What type is that exactly? I told it, my type is far away. It rolled its eyes. Of course, same old tune. Then it asked, are you even aware of the distance between you two? My son called out for me just then, and I got up, brushed the sand off, and walked toward him.

I wonder what distance really is, between two people. Is it physical? I used to write letters to someone hundreds of kilometers away, letters that took hours just to be delivered, and I never once felt that distance divide us. If anything, it pulled us closer. Is distance the hard wall you build into how you interact? Because despite never saying what I could have said, despite a clear boundary between us, I still felt close to them. Is distance the chasm your own mind creates, the one you refuse to cross? Maybe that’s where all distance actually lives, in the mind. The moment you feel it, it becomes real. The moment you build a bridge over it or around it, it disappears. But there’s no distance quite like time. Time that slips by while you do nothing at all. You can wake up one day and find yourself adrift out of reach that can never be crossed again.

For the last several months, I’d think about her occasionally, as a distant memory. Maybe once a day, driving to the office, taking a bath, reading, watching a movie. She’d surface in my head and then fade again. Eventually that slowed down even further, to maybe a few times a week. There were probably weeks I didn’t think of her at all. Fast forward to now, and she’s taken up residence rent-free in my head for every waking moment. What am I supposed to do about it? Nothing, apparently.

In other news, I finally woke up at 1:30 am last night. Felt fresh, so I figured it was as good a time as any to read her blog. If something in it felt unbearable, I planned to just put myself back to sleep and let it become a distant memory by morning. That was the plan, anyway. It was okay. I felt a bit sad reading it, but I understood exactly where she was coming from. It’s nice she is writing and writing honestly. It is healthy that she is ok with me reading it as long as it doesn’t become a medium to communicate what she may not want to say directly. It is heartwarming of course, seeing someone write about you, think about you, but at the same time I hope she’s navigating all of this in the healthiest way possible. And then I caught myself wondering, what does healthy even mean here? What I’m doing right now, is that healthy? Not saying any of it out loud, but letting her take up more and more space in my head regardless. I’ve realized that the only way she ever existed in my life was, as a person who I love while resenting myself for it. And even if it only exists inside my head, the current relationship has already taken on a shape in that form. I’m trying to make it a better shape. I want to be her friend. I want her in my life, permanently, without it costing either of us heartache and pain. I also don’t want her remembering me as someone who mostly just caused her pain. I’m willing to earn that, even if it takes more patience, resilience, and restraint than I think I have.

I’ve started dreaming about her a lot more too. I don’t know what any of it means, beyond the obvious: she’s been on my mind.

Which brings me back to this blog. What do I even do with it? Move it somewhere else? Hide it behind a password? I don’t want what I write here to affect her, and I don’t want my writing to change just because I know she might see it. Or maybe I just let it be. We’re adults. If she ever stumbles onto this, she’ll surely ask me things, and I’ll say whatever I need to say in that moment. I can’t decide. I need this space to stay open, to feel like I’m screaming into a void rather than trapped in a room alone with my own thoughts. It might be entirely metaphorical, but somehow, it makes all the difference to me.

I miss us, the good parts anyway.