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Long-Distance Sucks

I hate long-distance relationships. Absolutely despise them. So, you ask, why am I currently in one?

The short answer is, “I don’t know.” The real answer is, “I don’t know anyone locally that gets me.”

Tinderfella is in New York. I am in Texas. Maybe I shouldn’t have let it get this far. Maybe I should’ve nipped it in the bud. But I didn’t. Now I find myself strung out over a man I won’t get to touch until September — IF I’m lucky. With my cycle and every other factor that could exert itself over my situation, I don’t know if we’ll get to see each other then.

I don’t like this.

I want to kick it with him after work. Maybe hook up and see a movie. Or not. We could cuddle on the couch or discuss the day’s events or just breathe each other’s air. I wanna watch his face light up when he sees me or frown when he gets mad. I want to learn his facial expressions and body language well enough to read joy, peace, anger, and hatred on him.

Basically, I want to be with him in a real and meaningful way. Our locations make this virtually impossible.

I guess I could just break it off and look for someone around here who’d care enough to get past my issues to actually see me. I could walk away and pretend that this never happened — this being one of the best love affairs of my life. The one I saw when I met him eight years ago.

Yeah, right. Like that’s gonna happen.

What I’m gonna do is suck it up and stick it out. Why? Because this type of thing doesn’t happen every day — especially not to me. I’m going to find a way to make this work because I never want to say, “What if,” concerning him. 

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