Category: distance


“Sometimes people ask me how you can be best friends with someone you only see twice a year. All I can say is, when it comes to Fae, my other half, how can I not?” - March 9, 2009

There have been times in my life, crying in front of a computer screen, that the distance has seemed like too much. Times when all I want is to be able to be there for my best friend the way you’re supposed to be. There with a pint of ice cream. There with a hug. There with a shoulder to cry on.

Somehow, we made words enough. Black and white on computer screens or cell phones. Words have power, and usually that was enough.

It’s not enough this time. The words are useless. Being here for her isn’t as good as being there for her.

There is a whole new level to long distance relationships. The part that means when something awful happens, you can’t be there in an instant. Can’t sit beside the hospital bed. Can’t hold her hand. Can’t make her soup.

The distance has been killing me for 34 days. It has never seemed for far. I have never ever felt so useless.

me and my girl in Baltimore last fall

But I wish my car could drive to her tonight
Then I’d know everything is gonna be alright
Yes then I’d know it’ll be alright

-Joshua Radin

Some things you can’t keep

I want to see mountains again.

In my beautiful hotel, nestled in the enchanting mountains of Delphi, I wrote about shades of blues. I never knew that such a cool, subtle colour had so many hues until I saw the mountains. I never knew that there was a place you could watch the sun set over seemingly infinite shades of blue. A sweeping spectrum that took my breath away, that I failed repeatedly to capture perfectly on camera. Some things are just for looking. Some things you can’t keep.

On a train from Venice to Rome, I was struck by the beauty of the sky. Low wispy clouds, I wrote, running into mountains. Some dark grey-blue, others cracked with the yellow of the setting sun. A double rainbow from the train window, olive tree lined lazy roads in the sun. Rushing by the window.

I sat on a hill below a castle in Edinburgh, and I thought about stories. Of the stories we tell and the ones we keep and the ones, both kept and shared, that haunt us forever. I wrote about castles and fairytales and the dreams that I had to tell these stories, too.

Last year, I never had to be bored, because the next adventure was a week or a month away. There was a new place around each corner and a picture to take out of each window, from each park bench. There were seemingly endless possibilities. There was a dark and stormy sea, there was a hot and sandy beach. When I blinked, the world was a photograph. When I spoke, it was the pages of a history book.

How’s that for a pedestal? Gilded, gleaming and seven feet tall.

you wonder if you missed your dream…

Can you measure the distance between past and future with the present? There is always so much distance, when I want to be close. There are miles between people standing side by side and people miles away are cheek to cheek.

“I don’t miss the past. I miss the future with you.” - Fae.

My life cannot be mapped, as I am always living in worlds that don’t exist. The past. The future. Imagination.

I am lost in the Minotaur’s labyrinth. Or maybe I am hiding.