spring break | 2005

Emotions are such fickle things. All they need is a pat on the head and a scratch behind the ears every few days and they are just fine. They won't bug you, pester you, or irritate you unless something is wrong. The weird thing is, they won't play with you or comfort you when they are happy. Needless to say, something is wrong.

It is amazing how the acknowledgement of distance can traumatize the body so easily. If one is standing on a cliff overlooking the ocean, he can gaze out, sit down, run around, et cetera; however, if he decides to peer over the edge at the surging waters below, he will immediately feel afraid. Love is like that, too.

A distance of ten miles separates me and my girlfriend when I am home. If I am not with her, I do not feel worried or scared, because I know I can see her whenever I wish if I give myself about twelve minutes; yet, when she goes to other places--she is currently in Chicago--my entire body shudders like a diabetic after a tub of ice cream. I can't seem to function or reason without her. I try to tell myself that even when she is home, she is still away from me, but my mind knows its own tricks.

The scary part is I think I love her more when she is gone. Not because she is gone, mind you, just because I want her back so much, just to hold her and tell her of my love. When I actually think about it, it isn't my love that is increasing so much as my respect for her when she is here. And to think, I have taken her for granted before. I tell myself now, as I have before, I will never do that again. But, I suppose it is as inevitable as the sunrise. The only thing I know for certain right now is that absence does make the heart grow fonder.