Long distance relationships are hard.
They’re even harder when you haven’t completely defined the relationship with the person you’re separated from. It leaves you in an emotional limbo that feels more like a war zone. This limbo is almost worse than just being separated from your significant other because it leaves a lot of room for confusion, guilt, and jealousy to fester. And I’ve been harboring a lot of those.
I have felt jealous and confused, but mostly, I have been angry, which is not completely my own fault. He is somewhat at fault, but my lack of security about what we are often leaves me thinking about all of the situations that could be happening when he isn’t responding to my messages.
For weeks I kept telling myself that that it wouldn’t have been the first time that a guy ghosted me. I should have been used to it. But I thought he was better than that, and then I convinced myself that maybe he wasn’t. So, naturally, I did what I usually do–I tried to distract myself from my emotions. I’m surprised that I haven’t learned by now that it never works. It just makes me angrier. Not confronting the situation head-on made me feel angry.
I needed to remind myself that I want to be with him, which is so strange retrospectively. I remember a time when I would have been okay with him not responding to messages. I remember being the one that wouldn’t respond to his messages. I remember not wanting him as much as I do now. But like all good guys do, he managed to creep as close to my heart as he possibly could without really trying. All he had to do was heal my heart and break down a few hundred walls.
And after it all, I should have known I’d get pulled back in so immediately. Literal days without talking, and he still managed to put a smile on my face and make me laugh like he always does. It’s funny how conversations about being angry and how much of an ass he is can turn around. Better yet, it’s funny how they can turn into conversations about hypothetically moving in together and getting a dog. Conversations about how old we should be when (if) we have kids. I would like to have them at twenty-seven. He said forty, and I’ve settled on the name Sofia.
This is what happens to me, and we’re not even officially dating. He talks as if we’re free to be with whomever we want, but my heart can’t justify those actions. My heart can’t justify sleeping with someone that my heart doesn’t belong to when it’s so close, in fact, to belonging to someone.
I can see myself falling in love sometimes, and that scares me. I’ve been down that road, and I don’t want it for a long time. I’m so comfortable, though.
Long-distance is hard when your mind knows distance is good but all your heart wants is to be close.
P.S. For a second time since writing this and then typing it up, Hamilton’s “Burn” has come on my playlist. It is the literal definition of one of my biggest fears about falling in love and getting married.