Where You Are, I Am Too

I pressed my palm flat against the window today and pretended the warmth of the glass was your hand reaching back. There are nations and highways and a thousand small towns stacked between us, yet somehow you feel closer than my own breath.

I keep a list on my phone of things I want to tell you in person—the way light falls differently here now, a song that made me pull the car over. Every night I subtract one day from the distance, and every morning it grows lighter. Hold on a little longer; I am already on my way.