Between Bruises and Blooms

You crossed an ocean.

I crossed another kind of distance.

Yours was measured
in miles,
airports,
and passport stamps.

Mine was measured
in locked bedroom doors,
counting footsteps,
and wondering
if tonight
I would be safe enough
to fall asleep.

The strange thing is—

you met me halfway.

Through a glowing computer screen,
through a crackling Skype call,
through a voice
that reached farther
than any airplane ever could.

You never knew
how many nights
I borrowed your laughter
just to make it until morning.

…

Years later,
I see photographs
of you smiling at pelicans,
standing in places
I only knew through stories.

And somehow,
I don’t envy England.

I envy the version of us
that still believed
timing could be kind.