I’m sitting in an airline seat flipping through the movie channels. The cabin attendants are serving a meal again, but I can’t eat. My heart is heavy and you’re all that’s in it. Every song about love and loss and longing and aching and loneliness – they all remind me of you. Of this sweet and unbearably painful thing that binds us to each other. It’s a killing despair that I can’t live without.

I think about the last time I saw you. I watched in my rear view mirror as you walked away holding our music in your hands. In my head, Grace Potter sings of losing time and sleeping with ghosts. I close my eyes and remember how you touched me. The smell of your shirt. The taste of your kiss.

How is it possible that I am even more completely in love with you now? How can love grow so insistently deep when we are ripped apart by so many thousands of miles, endless days, and separate vows and obligations? Why is it that whenever I see you, everything feels like the first time all over again?

How is it that a love this strong and permanent just isn’t enough?