I could miss you a million ways to Sunday and it still won’t bring our distance closer.
I could cry a thousand tears to God and it still won’t be heard.
I could write a hundred letters to you and it still won’t alter our fate.
Our distance stopped measuring in miles when you drifted into a different person.
Our memories dispersed into a million stars in the night sky.
Far far away but close enough for me to still ponder upon time after time.
What’s left is an almost picture perfect fantasy of what could be.
The silly imagination of an almost perfect life with you.
L | Ephant