Distance is measured in absence and cups of tea.
Seasons fly like miles, wildflowers remind, but then go,
their faces hung with sorry. Distance lingers its space
in written kisses, muted colors, and shadows in between.
Music fills, then hollows, echoes, magnifies the far.
Measure it in cold, the blankets it takes to feel safe,
the uneasy sleep of reach, tired photographs scatter.
Distance is kilometers of untold stories, substitutions,
the poetry of isolation, the lapse of home, the missing.
Distance is measured in the expanse of the ache for you.