Somewhere Between ‘I Miss You’ and ‘What If We Never Make It?

There’s a weird kind of heartbreak that comes with long distance.

Not the kind where someone leaves. Not the kind where there’s a clean ending and you know you’re supposed to grieve and move on.

It’s the kind where someone is still there.

You still talk.

You still care.

There are still feelings.

There are still promises about “soon.”

But there are also miles.

And sometimes those miles feel like they’re sitting directly on my chest.

I’m learning that long distance isn’t just missing someone physically. It’s trying to navigate feelings that have nowhere to go.

It’s wanting to reach for someone after a horrible day and realizing your arms can’t actually reach them.

It’s wanting to look at their face instead of staring at a screen.

It’s wanting to hear “I’m here” while they’re actually standing in front of you.

It’s craving the little things I haven’t even gotten to have yet.

Sitting beside each other doing absolutely nothing. Falling asleep next to each other. Random drives. Grocery store trips. Stealing a hoodie. Being annoying on purpose just to get a reaction. Looking across the room and realizing, holy shit, you’re actually here.

I think that’s what makes this so complicated.

Because how do you miss something you haven’t even had yet?

Apparently, very fucking easily.

And then there’s the overthinking.

God, the overthinking.

A text feels different and suddenly my brain has written an entire tragedy before you’ve even had the chance to explain that you were just busy.

A response takes longer than usual and I wonder if something changed.

You seem a little quieter and I start wondering if you’re losing interest.

You tell me “soon,” and part of me gets excited while another part whispers, But what if soon never comes?

That’s the part I don’t always know how to explain.

Sometimes I’m not asking for reassurance because I don’t believe you.

Sometimes I’m asking because distance leaves so much empty space, and unfortunately my mind is incredibly talented at filling empty spaces with worst-case scenarios.

I’m trying to learn the difference between intuition and fear.

Between something actually being wrong and my past convincing me that something has to go wrong eventually.

Between protecting myself and accidentally pushing away something I desperately want because I’m terrified of losing it.

And fuck, that’s hard.

Because I want to believe in this.

I want to believe the conversations.

The plans.

The things we’ve said when it’s late and our guards are down.

I want to believe there will eventually be a day when there isn’t a screen between us.

But wanting something this badly is terrifying when you know you have absolutely no control over another person keeping their word.

So I’m caught somewhere between excitement and fear.

Between I can’t wait and please don’t disappoint me.

Between imagining the moment I finally get to wrap my arms around you and being scared that moment will somehow never happen.

And maybe that’s the hardest part of long distance feelings.

You’re constantly being asked to trust something you can’t touch yet.

To believe in moments that haven’t happened.

To build connection through phone calls, messages, pictures, late-night conversations, and promises while hoping that eventually all of it becomes real life.

That takes a terrifying amount of vulnerability.

Especially when you’ve been disappointed before.

I don’t need perfection.

I don’t need constant communication or some unrealistic fairytale where neither of us has a life outside of each other.

I just need consistency.

Effort.

Honesty.

I need actions to eventually meet words.

Because distance itself doesn’t scare me nearly as much as uncertainty does.

I can handle missing someone when I know we’re working toward something.

What destroys me is wondering whether I’m waiting for a future that only exists inside conversations.

So yes, sometimes I’m emotional.

Sometimes I need reassurance.

Sometimes I overthink.

Sometimes I get scared and want to run before someone else gets the opportunity to leave first.

But beneath all of that chaos is actually something painfully simple:

I care.

Probably more than I intended to.

And I’m trying to navigate feelings for someone I can’t just drive ten minutes down the road to see.

I’m trying to let something unfold without demanding every answer right now.

I’m trying to trust.

I’m trying to stay hopeful without abandoning reality.

And most importantly, I’m trying not to let fear ruin something before I even get the chance to find out what it could become.

Maybe that’s what long distance really is.

Two people standing in completely different places, looking toward the same possibility, and choosing—again and again—to keep closing the space between them.

Until “soon” finally becomes here.