Long-Distance Strings​

Our relationship exists in time zones and pixelated screens. He sends me pressed flowers in envelopes; I mail him mixtapes of rain sounds from my window. Some nights, I cry into my pillow, craving the warmth of his hug. But then he’ll text, “I’m looking at the same moon,” and suddenly the distance feels like a thread, not a wall. Love here is trust—believing in a future where goodnights turn into good mornings.​

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