Until the Sky Brings Us Home

Some nights I press my hand flat against the window glass and pretend the warmth I feel is yours, that somehow the same wind touching your skin a thousand miles away has traveled here just to carry you closer. I replay your voice from last night's call like a song I can't stop humming, letting it fill the quiet rooms you haven't stood in yet. Distance is a clever thief, but it can't take the way you linger in my chest.

I keep folding small promises into the days between us—dreams of train platforms and airport arrivals and the way I'll run so fast my legs might give out beneath me. Every letter, every photo, every whispered goodnight is a plank I'm laying across the space that separates us, and one morning that bridge will hold both of us standing together. The horizon will shrink to a doorway, and I will walk through it straight into you.