When I’m away from you, I make promises to myself. I tell myself to be content with what’s mine, to stop pining for a faraway love. I force myself to quit dreaming of dark corners in smoky bars and long, slender fingers wrapped around mine.

 
I make resolutions and pretend it’s not too late to start from scratch and purge myself of this secret sin of covetousness and regret.

 
But I know they’re little more than empty words, consolation points to somehow make this distance feel more natural, lend it some sense of rightness. I know that once the miles disappear and you and I are once more within arm’s reach of each other, the promises will shatter into nothingness and all I’ll be able to think about is being next to you, hearing your voice speak to me, exchanging that look we know well—a mixture of longing and happiness, loneliness and wishful thinking, thankfulness and the shared realization that every moment spent with each other is a gift that we may not be able to steal again.

 
When I am with you, there are no rules. The world is ours to do with it as we please, even if that world is only as big as the table we share and the space around us.

 
 

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