when you are far away

When you're far away, the expanse becomes palpable. The chasm between us extends in kilometers, in restless nights, amid train stations, airports, and an overwhelming sense of longing. The city, bustling with people, loses its vibrancy without you. Its lively streets turn hollow, life spirals into disarray. 

Composing letters to you has become a ritual, yet they differ from this one you might scarcely encounter. I yearn to share everything with you except my ache. I'll carry the weight of yearning for us both. Consequently, to your mailbox, I inscribe words intended to spark a smile. For instance, today, an eastern wind stirs. They say its speed reaches 10m/s, which means it could have roamed the streets of your city just yesterday. As it redirects, I shall impart a fraction of my warmth, sparing you the need to bundle up in a scarf. Alternatively, I implore you to gaze at the stars. Regardless of our locations, they remain unchanged, signifying that despite the distance, we witness the same celestial wonders. 

Longing for you has morphed into a routine. And routines are actions automated. I've acquiesced to it. It's evolved into an affliction akin to an incurable pain. It persists incessantly. Initially alarming, then bothersome, later insufferable... yet morning arrives—you awaken and it escapes notice. We become indivisible. It infiltrates your being. Dulling the resonance of your voice and laughter, erasing smiles, blinding you to the small delights in the vicinity. The longer the distance, the more conspicuous this embrace becomes.