By Mazie Bishop
Letters sealed with kisses, near misses and subtle wishes.
Words line up for duty to march their distances,
into the others hardened shell, their heart and soul,
bodies stone cold from the lack of holding.
The arms need to be reminded of their moulding,
where the muscles used to remember holding,
and the shoulders used to remember being held.
Wishing the days away, crossing them off the calendars,
like they don’t count, if they weren’t spent miles away,
I used to think people were running away from their fears,
but they were chasing the only thing they aren’t scared of.
The phone calls create illusions of closeness,
infinite, for neither of them want the call to end,
but ended by inevitable sleep and distant exhaustion,
because rushing to pack in everything they’ve needed to say,
in the few calls they can make, can be tiring sometimes.
I would imagine that the moments they can spend together,
are beautiful and artistic and passionate and mighty.
Being able to stare at eachother and fall in love again,
remembering what it’s like to feel them, tangible,
and not through interpretations of letters or online statuses.
bittersweet, thinking about being torn from each other.
Counting down the days they have until the next time.