Distance

Taking after contemporary writer Philip Levine, I was in sort of a slump since someone very significant in my life had flown across the country. If only for a few days, i was inclined to write this.

Second by second,

inch by inch,

across the screen it

went, every pixel a proportion.

A distance transcended, not

by combustion, but by something

new. Deep. Deeper than

 the skin. By an inch,

a constant itch, that

penetrates the very layer that

 protects me. Shields me, keeps

everything out. It hasn’t.

It has let in a feeling

only describable by those

 who have the same.

That feeling of disbelief.

The want, the desire, the

feeling of constant emotion.

The itch bores deeper.

To the space once

empty, now bursting.

To be so far, but to also

feel so close. Time,

once the object of concession,

once flying while together,

now stands still. That space

once bursting, still flows,

but the flow is tinged with

longing.